Seventeen Again
by Dream Writer 4 Life
Summary: Syd receives her next longterm undercover assignment: infiltrate a high school and bust its drug ring. Not exactly super spy stuff. Twists, turns, humour, and angst galore: basically a normal day in high school.
1. Smells Like Teen Spirit

**Title:** Seventeen Again  
**Author:** Dream Writer 4 Life  
**Rating:** PG-13/K+  
**Genre:** General/Humour/Romance/Drama/Angst/Action/Adventure...pretty much everything  
**'Shippers' Paradise:** S/V, F/Will, W/OC  
**Spoilers/Timeline:** After Phase One with hints of events throughout the first two seasons; basically AU  
**Summary:** Syd receives her next long-term undercover assignment: infiltrate a high school and bust its drug ring. Not exactly super spy stuff. Twists, turns, humour, and angst galore: basically a normal day in high school.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing "Alias"-related. Period. End of story. Wait, not it's not! Keep reading! Everything you don't recognize is either real or out of my own twisted imagination. And believe me, you don't want that. I do not condone drug use in any form.  
**Author's Note:** Welcome to my first novel-long Alias story! Hope you enjoy your trip to (or back into) high school.

**This Chapter:** The agents get their aliases and decide to join the band.  
**Soundtrack: **"Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter 1: Smells Like Teen Spirit**

"What? No way! You have _got_ to be kidding me!"

"I assure you, Agent Bristow, I couldn't be more serious."

"But this is crazy! Why? Why me? I just finished dealing with SD-6, and now you're sending me on another long-term assignment? You should be glad I'm not quitting the agency!"

"This is your _job_. I am your boss, and I give you assignments—"

"_Vaughn_ gives me assignments."

"_I give the assignments to Vaughn to give to you._ You're just going to have to accept this. Your father and Agent Vaughn will assist you on this mission. Here's the quick information on your alias." He handed her a thick manila folder stuffed with papers and personal artifacts. "Your alias is Jane Porter. She moved to Glenfield during the summer from LA. She's seventeen. Her interests are up to your interpretation, because I believe you and Agent Vaughn will have to choose extra-curricular activities to participate in together."

Sydney sighed, leafing through the folder's contents with a preoccupied air. She thought this entire operation was crazy. Her? Posing as a seventeen-year-old? What was Kendall on when he thought of this? And Vaughn! He was even older than she was! Who in their right mind would believe he was a senior in high school? But she had no real basis for objection; if they were made, they would have plenty of time and opportunities for extraction. She exhaled loudly, resigning herself to the situation. "Will the administration be aware of the CIA's presence?"

Kendall averted his eyes, staring off into the maze of desks and streams of bustling employees. "No." Sydney's eyes widened in disbelief, her arms dropping to her sides. "We thought that it would hamper the success of the mission."

"And how would that happen?"

"By playing favorites! An ignored assignment here or inappropriate conversation there could arouse suspicion and shatter your credibility as a teenager."

"You know last time I heard, teachers still played favorites. Now they're even called teachers' pets."

He shot her a look down his nose. "You know what I mean, Miss Bristow." She nodded placidly and relaxed her stance. He continued, "Jack will be posing as the new Chemistry teacher, and you and Agent Vaughn will be in his class together. Once a week he will conduct a study session that is mandatory for the best and worst students in each class. You will both attend on a regular basis. You will discuss updates and such at that time."

"But what if we're not the best or worst students?"

Kendall met her eyes again. "Oh, you will be. Believe me." Syd continued to look uncertain. "You will leave for Chicago in two days. We have set up a meeting between you, Agent Vaughn, and your father at a safe house in Moreno Valley. You will discuss your aliases. Everything else you will need is either in the folder or will be at the safe house. Is everything clear?"

She nodded, slipping the folder into a hidden compartment in her jacket and zippering it shut. She was about to leave the bullpen when a thought occurred to her. "What's my story for Francie and Will? What should I tell my friends?"

Kendall smiled widely, such an unusual sight that she nearly choked on her own tongue. "Don't worry. Everything has been taken care of."

* * *

Clothing was flying everywhere; the floor of her room was barely visible beneath the massive amounts of brightly colored and patterned articles of apparel that littered it. A blue crop top that Syd did not even know she had flew at her face; she caught it with a surprised grunt, and Francie's face appeared from out of the depths of Syd's closet. "Oh! Hey Syd! I can't believe you didn't tell me sooner! I had to find out through—" The rest of her friend's sentence was cut off by a tower of dresses that had chosen that moment to topple onto her head.

Sydney started laughing as she began to dig out her best friend. "What in the world are you talking about?"

Francie's head appeared under a black mini dress, smiling from ear to ear. "You know, you're trip with Michael — Oh, no. I wasn't supposed to say anything." Her smile faltered slightly but came roaring back upon seeing Syd's confused grin. "Oh well. Guess the cat's out of the bag." She leaned closer, visibly giddy with excitement. "Michael's taking you on a trip to France! _For a year!_ Do you know what this means, Syd? This means that he loves you! He might propose to you! Oh, one of us will finally be married! We have so much to do: a dress, flowers, and of course the restaurant will cater _everything_. Unless y'all aren't planning a wedding at all. Are you eloping? Is that what this is for? It's really not a surprise at all! You just want to get away from us so you won't be bothered. Well, if that's the way it is, Sydney Bristow, then I don't want any part of it!"

"Seriously, France. Calm down. I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. Why are you digging through my closet as if you were drowning? What don't I know?"

Francie stood up, Sydney's collection of dresses pooling at her feet, and dusted herself off. "Weren't you listening to me?"

"Sorry. I tend to tune out the psychotic ramblings of my best friend."

Sticking out her tongue mockingly, she took a seat on the corner of her friend's bed as the latter began rearranging her garments. "Well, what I said was Michael is taking you to France for a year! Isn't that awesome? We won't be able to talk or see each other, but I know you're in safe hands. If he _ever_ tries to put a move on you and you have to beat him with a stick to get him off of you, call me and I'll hop onto my broomstick and fly over there in, like, two seconds: he'll be a dead man."

A small smirk threatened to lift one corner of Syd's mouth as she thought of the moves Vaughn had put on her in the short amount of time they had been together. "That's okay, Fran. I don't think I'll be needing your flying broomstick anytime soon." A box of photos fell and she caught it halfway to the floor. Replacing it on the top shelf, she turned back to her friend with a look of genuine interest. "So What did Michael say about France? What about work? I — we — can't just up and leave the bank on _one day's_ notice!"

Francie began toying with the corner of the bedspread, picking off imaginary lint. "I wasn't supposed to tell you this much. I don't think I should say any more." One look from her best friend and she grinned brightly. She had never been able to keep a large secret for long; one of the reasons why Syd absolutely _knew_ she could not be trusted with the true nature of her job. "Well, he said he called in for a temporary transfer for both of you so you wouldn't have to take a lifetime's worth of vacation leave. Isn't that so sweet? I mean I knew he was amazing, but I didn't know he was this amazing."

'_So this is how they broke the news to Will and Francie. I wonder if Will knows the truth; maybe he was part of the task force! Oh, that would be so nice__'_ "When did you find out about this? I just talked to Michael before we left the bank."

Her best friend leapt off the bed at the mention of time. She stopped Syd's feeble reorganization efforts by throwing herself back into the closet. "He actually left just before you got home; I'm surprised you didn't run into him on the way in. But anyway, he told me to keep it a secret and to pack for you: only what you absolutely needed, though, because he's going to buy you a whole new wardrobe once you get there. Isn't that awesome? You get to go shopping for clothes _in France_: Gare de Lyon, the Champs-Èlysèes, Armani Well, that last one's Italian, but still! Designer labels, Syd, _real_ designer labels! I am so totally and completely jealous. Not to mention those sexy French boys. Do your extremely envious friend a favour and bring her home one."

"You have Will, Fran."

"Eh, what's another one or two on the side?"

"Francie!"

"Kidding, kidding!"

"Don't be jealous, Fran," Syd continued, a bit preoccupied as she extracted her handy-dandy pillow-sized suitcase on wheels from under her bed. Packing would have been a lot easier if she knew what a modern seventeen-year-old wore; as it was, she did not even remember what a modern twenty-eight-year-old wore. She had to pack for five days at the most: she, Vaughn, and her father had to settle in, buy new clothes, and figure out what the hell they were doing and how they were going to do it. Francie started throwing entire outfits at her friend, pulling her attention back. "We still have to work, you know. Now at least we can't go on any business trips."

"It's not called 'working' when you are in a beautiful foreign country surrounded by a gorgeous culture, exquisite language, hotter-than-Los-Angeles-on-a-July-day-hot Frenchmen, and a boyfriend who is probably going to propose and ask you to bear his children!"

All Sydney could mutter was an exasperated and helpless, "Fran!" before zippering her suitcase. She plunked down on the bed next to it, bouncing slightly on the springy mattress. Fran gracefully glided to a rest beside her best friend and slid an arm around her shoulder, hugging her close. "I'm gonna miss you, Fran."

"I'll miss you, too, Syd."

They smiled at each other serenely.

France clapped a hand reassuringly onto Syd's knee, breaking the moment. "Well, Michael's going to be back any minute to pick you up. Now, promise me you'll act surprised, 'cause otherwise he just might kill me."

That smirk resurfaced upon Syd's cheeks, conveying the fact that she might know something that no one else did. "Don't worry. I have the feeling I'll be in for a _ton_ of surprises."

* * *

Vaughn picked Sydney up with a large and genuine smile, leaving behind a sobbing Francie and sober Will. In a hushed and hurried whisper, Will had told his friend that he knew where she was going and wished her good luck. Smiles of masked knowing and worry were exchanged between the three CIA employees as the couple sped off towards the "airport". The airport happened to be a small CIA safe house located in Moreno Valley, a suburb of LA, where Jack Bristow was supposed to be waiting for them. Not even bothering to remove their luggage (there were most certainly appropriate changes of clothing waiting for them), Vaughn and Sydney went inside and were met with a strange sight. Instead of the grey-haired, tight-lipped, stoic Senior Agent Bristow they found a shorter, portlier agent sitting at the table in the reasonably furnished living room.

He stood up with a large smile spreading across his round face. "Hey guys. Surprised to see me?" He asked, opening his arms to receive Sydney's glad hug.

Her former handler beat her to the question that was waiting to be asked. "Surprised? More like a little confused. There was only supposed to be three undercover agents on this mission. What are you doing here, Eric?"

Weiss motioned towards the door they entered through while he retook his seat. "I escaped the Ops Centre by stowing away in your suitcase. Didn't you wonder why it was so heavy? Not. What do you think? They thought that you guys might need a crowbar to pry you two apart and, well, I'm that crowbar. Don't get any kinky ideas, now: I'm not into more than one person at a time."

Stifling a laugh-turned-snort, Syd finally took in the table. There were four semi-established stacks of paper near the centre, but that was all that was clearly discernable among the discombobulated chaos. Papers, photos, newspaper clippings, brightly-colored folders, manila folders, and Post-its were scattered among writing utensils of every make and colour: markers, highlighters, pens, pencils, crayons even. Only Weiss could turn a meeting into a Kindergarten playroom. "Weiss, is my father hiding under this mess or is he not here yet?"

He smiled sarcastically but did not have time to reply. Jack Bristow strode in from the next room carrying a tray of glasses and a pitcher. "I'm right here, Sydney. I requested that Agent Weiss come along on this mission; we need at least one jock on this escapade." Ignoring the questioning looks from all three younger agents, he frowned down at the table. "Agent Weiss, at least try to be organized. For our sake."

Mumbling an apology, Eric cleared away the papers across the table from his seat, allowing the tray to be placed in their stead. Jack motioned for Sydney and Vaughn to take a seat and they separated, moving to opposite sides of the space. At the last moment Weiss sat down in Vaughn's seat, prompting a wrinkle or twenty to break out on his friend's head. Eric just smiled slyly and raised his eyebrows. Sydney was oblivious to the two children; she was engrossed in the mass amount of paperwork in front of them.

She accepted a glass of water from her father's outstretched hand and passed it along to Vaughn. "Would somebody like to clue me in on what all this stuff is?"

"Details on our covers," Her father answered curtly, moving the tray to a side table for extra room. "We need to be briefed on each other's covers so that there is no overlap from our personal lives to those that we will impersonate. I have instructed Agent Weiss to assemble stacks for us, but I see he was unable to do so."

"Hey! I started! See?" He gestured to the four aforementioned stacks, which stood no more than a quarter-inch above the sea of dead trees. He dug them out and passed them to their respective owners proudly, and they all started to sift through the forlorn pit, exclaiming a random name from time to. When the papers were evenly distributed (and Syd realized that the real identity of the surface was a worn-down card table), they could finally begin "sharing" and "discussing". Weiss had a harder time absorbing his information because he had only received the assignment a mere two hours before; the rest of them had an entire day. So, of course, Vaughn made his friend go first.

Eric felt like a child again in English class, called upon to recite a newly learned passage by Shakespeare. It was only appropriate. He picked up his paper and held it in front of his face with both hands, studying it while he read. "I am Gregory Stone, a seventeen-year-old three-sport athlete transferring in from Everglades High in Miami, Florida. Boy, am I gonna have a hard time explaining away my lack of a tan."

"We have self-tanner among our supplies, Agent Weiss."

"Well, that's good. I'm in football, swimming, and baseball. I live with my mother Audrey Stone and father Bruce Stone in Sugarville. Extra curriculars besides sports: unknown. Guess I'm the jock, guys."

"Correct. You will be the CIA's eyes and ears in the world of sports. See if there's any steroid use, drug trafficking, anything like that."

Weiss nodded and slid his pen from behind his ear; they each had to take notes on the other agents for study and memorization. Jack took the initiative and decided to go next. He did not need the aid of his stack of papers.

"I am Victor Tull from Des Moines, Iowa. I taught Chemistry at Sim City High School for ten years before moving to Angers to teach at Glenfield. I have never been married and am forty-two years old. We will be able to keep in contact because I will be teaching ninth hour Chemistry, the one class that you will have in common. It was a risky decision, but I felt it was necessary for the success of the mission."

Weiss suddenly paused in his scribbling to look up. "Where are our class schedules? Don't you think we should have those as well? They just might come in handy one of these days."

The older agent straightened up in his seat and looked down his nose at the former. Eric immediately regretted opening his mouth at all. "Have you ever heard of registration, Agent Weiss?" He had learned his lesson; pressing his lips into a thin line he allowed Jack to continue. "That is when students — new and old alike — arrive at the school to receive locker assignments, class schedules, and pay their fees. This year it is on August 12."

"We have to pay for things?" Sydney repeated, her voice rising an octave in worry. "If we pay with a check, we'd each have to set up checking accounts. If we pay with a credit card, we have the same problem. And won't they be suspicious if we all pay with cash?"

Vaughn laughed sarcastically, shifting in his seat. She offered him a mask of confusion, her eyebrows raised and knotted together. He cleared his throat, fighting the bemused smirk that was threatening to overtake his features. "Are you kidding? Do you even remember the objective of this mission? We're taking down drug traffickers. I'm pretty sure they're used to cash by now."

"Good point, buddy," Weiss responded, clapping his friend on the shoulder, apparently attempting to slip into his jock role. With one withering look from Vaughn he backed off. "Well, let's get on with this. Syd, you're up."

Sydney had memorized her alias long ago and spit out the facts as if she had actually lived them.

"My name is Jane Porter. I am from Los Angeles, California, where I have lived since I was born. I am a seventeen-year-old senior in high school, and I reside with my mother and father, Christine and Matthew Porter, in Sugarville. At my previous high school I was a straight-A student with no extra-curriculars. This year that will change; I plan to take up as many extra-curricular activities as my schedule allows. My parents are extremely well-off and take many business trips, leaving me home alone often." She allowed herself an immensely quick meaningful glance at Vaughn. He did a double take, but her eyes were already glued to a spot on the off-white wall between her father and Weiss. "I have no siblings. Vaughn?"

Still slightly confused as to the meaning of Syd's look, he took a moment to straighten his papers and look them over one last time before beginning. Upon glancing up, the first thing he saw was Jack's most famous face: the if-so-much-as-one-single-hair-even-blows-out-of-line-I-will-not-hesitate-to-kill-you-in-the-slowest-way-imaginable face. Apparently he had gotten Sydney's message loud and clear. "Enough procrastinating, Agent Vaughn," Jack stated, barely moving his lips. "We have much to do tonight before we leave. Let's get on with this."

"Yes sir," The younger agent stammered out, still a hint of confusion exhibiting itself in the arch of his eyebrows. "I am Michel Tibot, a nineteen-year-old from Paris, France—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second," Syd interjected. "Why is Vaughn from France? Why would a person from France move to a suburb of Chicago? It's too conspicuous."

The senior Bristow sighed in exasperation as he folded his hands on top of the table. "If you had let him finish his introductory monologue, you would have found out. Agent Vaughn, please continue."

Apologetic smile met apologetic smile as Syd and Vaughn locked eyes; she was the first to blush and look away, only to catch Weiss's sly and knowing smirk. Fixing his gaze above the head of Jack Bristow Vaughn continued, "I have been studying English almost as long as I have been doing drugs. Pot, crystal meth, coke, heroin, acid, ecstasy, and various steroids have been found in my possession. I have been expelled from four public schools, two private schools, and five juvenile facilities. I've been arrested three times, sent to jail once, and ordered to take counseling more times than I can count. My parents are divorced with my father living in Sugarville, so my mother sent me there to straighten me out. She figured that getting me away from gang-filled inner cities and into a wholesome American suburb would help me. Little does she know that Glenfield isn't as wholesome as it seems: there are over thirty gangs in the town of twenty-eight thousand people, and I plan to join the top of the line."

There was a pregnant pause after his soliloquy: the younger agents did not quite know how to respond to such a heavily detailed alias. Putting aside the fact that he had to remember one number from another, the hoops that the CIA had obviously had to jump through in order to compile all of those police, school, and psychologists' records was almost humbling. It solidified Sydney's resolve and determination that this mission should succeed. Vaughn's — no wait, Michel's personal predicament deserved not only her pity, but her help as well. That required action. If this was typical of what was to be found where they were going It was not just the present state of the country that they were fighting for; their future was at stake as well. For the time being, though, Eric and Syd only nodded their heads, jotting down their final notes on their fellow agent before turning their attention back to Mr. Bristow.

The latter rose from the table and left the room without a word. He returned shortly with a stack of three course books (each about half an inch thick), six large envelopes, and three small white envelopes. Upon handing them to their respective recipients he explained, "Although your courses and course schedule have already been pre-arranged, Kendall thought it necessary for you to understand what is offered, what you're getting to. The thicker envelopes are registration information, a map of the school, and all the other precursory paperwork they send to new arrivals. Vaughn, yours is thicker because there's a copy in French. The second envelope is a list of the extra-curricular activities offered by the school. You will actually pick your clubs and such on Activities Night, which you three are required to attend. The third envelope, well, I'm not quite sure what that is."

Even though curiosity killed the cat, it did not kill the three CIA agents who eagerly tore open that third envelope. Expecting to see a cheesy but friendly note from the principal or dean, they were strangely surprised to see that the letter and subsequent paperwork were from a certain Mr. James L. Guter, director of bands at Glenfield Community High School. It was a standardized welcome to the school and an invitation to join the "award-winning Wildcat marching, concert, and jazz bands". Not quite knowing what to think about it, all three put it aside for the time being and turned to the almost overwhelming amount of paperwork before them.

They filled out the registration packets in silence and discussed their possible classes and the activity list with minimal enthusiasm. By the time that the paperwork was getting wrapped up, it was close to midnight and more than one pair of eyelids was drooping, so when Vaughn suggested they brew a pot of coffee Sydney jumped at the opportunity. The pair entered the sparsely furnished kitchen without so much as a word; Vaughn set about brewing a pot while Syd quietly searched through the cupboards to find four mugs. When the liquid had been poured and the first gulp had seared a welcome trail down her throat, she smiled up at him sweetly.

"So _Michel_ just exactly how big of a stretch is this whole drug addict thing?"

He laughed through his nose as he added a sugar cube to his coffee and watched it bob for a moment before it dissolved and sank. "I have no idea how I'm going to do this. I mean, correctly portraying a teenager of today without an adjustment period is hard enough. Now add to that I'm gonna be hazed into a gang, pretend that I'm doing drugs, and hide from the administrators There's no grace period, Sydney; I can't 'adjust' like you can. I can only use the excuse 'I'm French' for a certain amount of time before it becomes old."

"I think the phrase is 'done', Vaughn. 'You're done' or 'it's done' "

"Yeah See what I mean? This is going to be Hell."

"Hey," She replied, her soft tone demanding his gaze. "At least we can date without the entire CIA breathing down out necks and watching our every move. They don't care if we see each other while we're on assignment as long as we keep up appearances."

Vaughn sighed, dragging his eyes back to the steaming mug in his hands, attempting to stare straight to the bottom. "Syd, why would a straight-A wonder girl have anything to do with a doped-up druggie?"

Finishing her cup, she crossed the room to stand by his side under the pretense that she was pouring herself another mug. She settled back against the cabinets, resting her elbows on the countertop, and bit her lip in thought. With a twinkle glowing like a warming ember in her eyes she looked up at him and replied slowly, "Well, like you said, we don't know exactly how these teenagers act nowadays. Who knows? Maybe the lines between popular and geeky — between cliques — isn't as clear cut as they were back when we were in school. Now it may be standard procedure to see a stoner hooking up with the head cheerleader or a known drama geek to date the captain of the football team."

He snorted shortly into his mug, almost splashing the hot liquid down his shirtfront. He took both of their mugs and set them down on the counter behind them. Cradling her face in the palm of his hand, he ran his thumb over her cheekbone, his feather-light touch almost tickling her. "Have I told you how great you are recently?" She smiled as she leaned into his embrace, cupping a hand around the back of his neck to bring his head down for a quick but heated kiss.

It was not quick enough, though. When they pulled apart, a throat cleared from the direction of the doorway, and Weiss was visible leaning against the doorframe with an annoyed look on his face. Both blushed as they shoved away from the other and came to rest on opposite sides of the small room. Ignoring both of them, Eric grabbed one of the mugs awaiting him on the counter and helped himself to a cup of liquid caffeine. "Seriously, guys. No room or corner is safe from you two, is it? You need a designated room where you two can just go at it like rabbits at any time of day. If I have to, I'll build it myself. That way I can make sure that it doesn't have windows. While I don't mind seeing you—" he pointed to Syd "—in the nude, you, _Monsieur_ Mikey, I _do_ mind seeing in your birthday suit. I do not need to be complaining to Barnett for the rest of my natural life, thank you very much."

Sydney scoffed loudly and pretended to throw her coffee at him as she wedged herself between the two men, all three crowding together in the small space. After a brief silence she asked, "What do you guys think about this band thing? Should we join?"

"I can't do marching band," Weiss sighed, dropping the mug into the sink and opening the refrigerator in one movement. "Varsity football players can't be in the marching band 'cause that's when they do the halftime shows."

"So? I think it'd be fun," Vaughn replied, this time picking a random spot on the wall to aimlessly stare at. "You could do concert band. And who knows? Maybe we would make jazz band. Although I don't really like jazz "

"I hate to bring this up, guys," Sydney stated reluctantly, trying in vain to hide a hopeless laugh and smile, "but can any one of us actually play a musical instrument? Can any of us even read music? 'Cause both of those things could throw a monkey wrench into our plans."

There was a silence for a while as they considered.

Vaughn was the first to speak. "I used to play the guitar, so I guess I can play that."

"Not for marching or concert band, you can't."

"Fine. I'll join the drum line, then. I played in a garage band when I was sixteen."

"Sounds like a plan, buddy," Weiss said, this time slapping his friend on his backside. As a reflex, Vaughn's fist registered a severe uppercut to the stomach, causing Weiss to double over in pain while Sydney stifled her laughter with her hands.

"Sorry!"

"That's okay. Just don't tell anyone on the football team that you can beat me up," Eric replied, slightly breathless. After his recovery and many profuse apologies from Vaughn, he redoubled his search for food in the cabinets. "I suppose I can try to remember how to play the tuba. I Well, I kinda played it in my high school band."

Another profound silence overtook the room as the other agents stared at him in disbelief. "You You w-were You were in—"

"You were in the band? For real?" Sydney cried, her shoulders rounding as she slumped into Vaughn. "That leaves me. I can play the piano and sing, but I can't play an actual instrument. Not even a drum: I couldn't keep the beat if my life depended on it."

"Well it just might, Syd," Vaughn said matter-of-factly.

She sighed and tucked an errant stand of hair behind her ear as she thought. "What's the easiest instrument to play, then? I assume we're joining the band, by the way."

"Yeah, well, we kinda have to. It's in our schedule," Weiss pointed out, finally giving up his search and leaning against the opposite counter. "They just sent those letters as a courtesy. Kendall told me before I left. Oh, and the flute/piccolo is pretty much the easiest instrument to play. And with your linguistic ability, it'll literally take no time at all."

"What the hell does linguistics have anything to do with anything?"

Eric sighed in exasperation. "Haven't you ever heard that music is a language? Well, it really is. You already know how to read it. Now you gotta learn how to speak it."

"Um, yeah, okay Weiss "

"Are you three quite done in here?" Her father had appeared at the doorway, standing in a manner that conveyed the fact that he had been standing there for a time. The three younger agents averted their eyes, feeling like children caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Jack motioned behind him with a nod of his head. "It's later, we're all tired, and we've got a large day ahead of us. There's one bed and two couches in the bedroom. I suggest you all get some sleep."

"But where will you—"

"There's a cot in the other room. I'll be fine." After a moment's hesitation, Sydney gave her father a peck on the cheek and led the way into the bedroom, claiming dibs on both the bed and first use of the bathroom. Weiss and Vaughn followed as reluctantly as a lamb being lead to slaughter; they knew they would not get to use the bathroom for at least an hour.

_**TBC . . .**_

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* * *

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**Chapter Two:** Field Trip to Wal-Mart  
**Chapter Three:** Black, Red, Green, or Blue?

Hope you enjoyed the first of many apparitions of the Exposition Fairy! Please leave feedback!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	2. A Field Trip to WalMart

**Everything I said earlier: yeah, all the same. :)**

This Chapter: The agents take a trip to Wal-Mart and observe some real teens in their natural habitat ("Crikey!") while small children assault Jack.

Suggested Soundtrack: "My World" and "Anything but Ordinary" by Avril Lavigne, "What's My Age Again?" by Blink 182, "Nasty Girl" by Destiny's Child, "AM Radio" by Everclear, and "Fat Lip" by Sum 41

Author's Note: You people should be thanking my school for finals…I never write so much within a week than I do during finals. Enjoy!

  
  
Seventeen Again

Chapter Two: Field Trip to Wal-Mart

  
  
"Give it a rest, you two: there are three people in the room, one of which does not want to see what this could escalate to. You know, they put _two_ couches and a bed in here for a reason."

"Shut up — mmph — Weiss."

"Be a good little boy and — mmph — close your eyes."

"Okay, that's it. No more Mr. Nice Weiss; I'm breakin' out the big guns. If you two don't retrieve your tongues from each other's mouths in one second…_I'm gonna tell Daddy Bristow_."

"Disengaging mouths this second."

The three agents were in their "bedroom" the next morning, preparing for their impending trip to the local Wal-Mart. All of them needed at least one outfit for the flight to Chicago, and it would give the younger agents time to observe teenagers in their "natural habitat". They were fitting each other for hidden communication links so that they could talk to each other and record the others' observations.

"You know, I think they're going to notice if we just start randomly talking to ourselves in the middle of Wal-Mart. Wouldn't cell phones be simpler?" Syd pointed out as she tested her faux necklace. Both men sighed in exasperation.

"Do you really think we're that stupid?" Weiss asked rhetorically. "Of course we thought of cell phones! But not every teen in America has a cell, Syd. Most of them can't afford it." Sydney opened her mouth for a rebuttal. "And even if they have rich mommies and daddies to foot the bill, what about the whole teen rebellion thing? Aren't all teenagers supposed to hate their parents and everything they stand for?"

Sydney closed her mouth and frowned hard, handing the necklace to Vaughn to clasp behind her neck. "Well, the first girl I see on a cell phone, I'm whipping mine out and we're having a three-way…No, Eric, not that kind. God, get your mind out of the gutter!"

At that time Jack knocked twice on the bedroom door, signaling that it was just about time for them to leave. All three of them silenced and finished gathering their last remaining belongings. Weiss and Syd would take Syd's car and actually park at the Wal-Mart while Jack and Vaughn would take Jack's government-issued Sedan and park at the McDonald's across the street. They had been told the plan that morning when Jack had come in to wake them up; his voice was as strained and as terse as ever, probably owing to the fact that he caught his daughter and her boyfriend sleeping in the same bed and without much space in between their partially-clad bodies. Whether Jack had purposely decided that he accompany the younger agent to their destination just so that he could dump him on the side of a highway in the middle of nowhere was yet to be seen. But while there were hardly three words said between the two of them during the entire car ride, there were no abandoning or desertions of any kind.

Weiss and Syd were sitting on a bench side by side talking companionably when the other two agents pulled up across the street. Syd amiably ended their pointless conversation with a small hug and entered the store, grabbing a cart from the corral and heading towards the junior's section. Her former companion relaxed in his seat as he saw Jack and Vaughn exit the car without talking. The senior agent strode quickly into the McDonald's while the younger continued on across the road and nodded politely at Weiss before grabbing a cart himself and heading off to the men's section. After an interval of exactly five minutes, Weiss heaved himself off the bench, lassoed a cart, and made his way to electronics.

Meanwhile Jack ordered a large water, sat down in the booth closest to the street (which happened to be in the Playplace), and kept his comm. channel open.

Syd pushed the blue cart around the racks, taking on the persona of a young aunt going birthday shopping for a niece. She fingered fringed tops and gawked at their low necklines and lack of straps. _'Is this really what they wear these days?'_ She asked herself as she picked up a halter top with "wish you were here" printed across the chest in bold blue letters. _'You've got to be kidding me! These kids are only, like, fifteen: do they even know what sex is? Have they hit puberty yet?'_

At that moment, a high-pitched multi-faceted giggling fit broke out behind a rack of screened tees. Curiosity taking over, she moseyed over and pretended to check the size on a pair of shorts while she scoped out the scene. There were five girls gathered around a leggy blonde who seemed to be their leader. She was posing as if for a camera crew, thrashing her hips form side to side and pouting her lips almost professionally. Her black leather skirt could have rivaled any of Sydney's disguises in tightness, shortness, and overall fulfillment of any male fantasy. The shirt had a neckline that reached down in between her breasts with the straps tied in a knot at the nape of her neck. The hemline was a good two inches above her navel. Twittering like old gossips, the girls circled around her and exclaimed how "great" and "totally tight" she looked.

The CIA agent barely used an ounce of stealth when she attempted to get closer, allowing her to study them more adequately. The girls were too far off in their own world to notice the older woman blatantly staring at them over a pair of khaki Capri shorts.

Moving closer to her friend and laying a hand on her bare shoulder, the only brunette in the bunch gasped without pretense, "Oh, Travis is going to just _die_ when he sees you!"

The blonde did not bother to make eye contact when she answered. "Really, Mel? 'Cause I thought this skirt was a little long."

Sydney had to pretend she had a sudden coughing fit to cover up her laughter. Fiddling with her necklace, she turned on her comm. link and interrupted the others' conversation. "Hey guys, get a load of this." Moving even closer, she pretended to inspect the tags on a rack of pink peasant shirts.

Mel (the brunette) had begun circling the blonde leader like a vulture ready to strike. "Yeah, Mal. I mean if I was him, I'd jump you in a second. The shirt's a little loose, though, but that can be fixed. Just tell your mom to make sure that it shrinks when she washes it."

Another petite blonde spoke up from the back of the crowd. "The clothes are great, Mal, but don't you think someone's gonna notice that you got them at Wal-Mart? I mean, shouldn't we at least _try_ going to Abercrombie or American Eagle or even Wet Seal? Or at least cut off a tag from there and sew it on or something."

Mal sighed in exasperation as she took her handbag (it was too small to be classified as a purse; Sydney could not tell how she could fit a tube of lipstick in there) from another girl. Opening it, she pulled out her gargantuan wallet (_'How the hell did that fit?'_) and started pouting for real. "Alex, you know that Daddy took away my credit cards last week because he caught me making out in my room with Paul." Sydney heard twin snorts through her ear piece; neither man could believe what they were hearing.

A third blonde shoved her fist into her hip, impatiently chomping on a wad of bubble gum. "Why are we even here? Carissa's end-of-summer party isn't for, like, two whole weeks."

Mal spun around, challenging the shorter teen with a practiced look of disgust. "Are you kidding me? I need you all to start spreading rumours about what I'm wearing! Remember what our goal is: to make me the hottest _chica_ going into the eighth grade." The three agents gasped, and Syd even thought she heard her father inhale sharply. _Eighth grade?!_ Definitely not old enough to be even thinking about taking up sex as a casual pastime.

Weiss was mumbling a few choice phrases and Vaughn was agreeing, and to shut them up she hissed loudly; so loudly in fact that it caught the girls' attention. She pretended to have another coughing fit, leaning on her cart for support. The girls merely glared at her disdainfully until Mal nodded her head towards the changing rooms and then the checkout lines, and she started off with the rest of them trailing behind like blind lemmings.

Sydney melted in between two racks of halter-tops, shaking her head in disbelief. "Did you guys catch all of that? That is the definition of incredible."

She could practically hear Weiss nodding. "Um, yeah, just slightly. If they're that bad by eighth grade, they're gonna be whores in high school."

"Weiss, watch your mouth."

"He's got a point, Syd. If this is any indication of how things have progressed since we were teens…Oh God, what have we gotten ourselves into, guys?"

"High school, Vaughn," She replied matter-of-factly. "We've gotten ourselves into high school." At that moment, a teenage girl of about sixteen (Sydney was seriously doubting her perception of age by then) passed in front of her hiding place talking on a cell phone. With a surge of hopeful anxiousness, she stepped out into the aisle to confirm her initial observation. Not bothering to go radio silent, she began digging in her purse, quickly extracted her cell, and established a speedy connection with both male agents. She smiled triumphantly as they both stated their last names simultaneously. "Ha, ha! I found one! I win!" Syd paused for Vaughn's curse spitting and Weiss's groaning. "Hey Weiss, you can finally tell people you had a three-way with your best friend and his incredibly sexy girlfriend."

"That's not exactly something I want publicized, Syd."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

"Damn!" The sharp swear cut off the two arguing agents and they both waited for Vaughn's elaboration. "Have either of you seen a guy yet?" Upon hearing their denials he continued, "Consider yourselves lucky. How do they keep their jeans from falling down? The things are hanging half off their asses! I think it's time to bring back suspenders; I don't want a breeze on my ass every time I stand up."

"If I get a view, they can fall off your ass any day."

"Syd, your _dad's_ listening!"

"I know. Hi Daddy!"

"Oh, God. I have to ride back with the man. Please don't do anything that I'll regret later."

"Like what? Like saying that _you and I have sex?!_ I think he already knows that, Vaughn."

"Ah! My virgin ears! My virgin ears!"

"No comment, Weiss. But seriously, guys, I am _not_ looking forward to dressing like that. And who the hell is Choking Victim? Or Papa Roach? Or 50-Odd Foot of Grunt? Anybody heard of them?"

"No."

"No. Why?"

"'Cause these kids just walked by and they have concert t-shirts on. Weiss? Whatcha got over in electronics?"

"Mike, I think we're officially uncool. I just saw a Kiss CD in the oldies' section…Oh! I just came across a Papa Roach CD! Looks slightly nasty: it's got a huge cockroach on the cover and it's called 'Infested'."

"I think the 'duh' is implied, Weiss."

"This is crazy! All the girls are clustered around the new releases: Jennifer Lopez, Kelly Clarkson, 50 Cent…And then there's the punk group: Blink 182, Sum 41, basically any group with a number in the name…It's really kinda funny."

Syd grabbed two pairs of jeans, figuring on making a pair of shorts that suited her taste and did not show off the majority of her backside. "Pick up a few CDs like the kids are grabbing, whether it be Avril Lavigne or Linkin Park."

She could practically hear Weiss's eyebrows raise in surprise. "Wow. That's good, Syd. I'm impressed. You should be down here picking up music not me, one of the cast of 'Even Grumpier Old Men'."

"Yeah I'm pretty hip, aren't I?"

"You just heard someone talking about those people, didn't you?"

"Shut up, Vaughn. I don't need your sass."

"Children, are you about done? We need to get back to the safe house as soon as possible. And the children here are starting to stare at me," Jack complained over the earpiece. In the background, the three agents could hear the screech of kids running around like chickens with their heads cut off.

Stifling her laughter, Sydney piled a few more shirts into her cart, grimacing at the selection yet again. "I don't know about them but all I have to do is try my things on and check out. ETA: fifteen minutes."

"Ditto."

"Same for me."

"All right," Jack sighed, a note of relief shining through. "I will be waiting for Agent Vaughn in the main building. Order a diet Coke and go to the booth in the back. Then we'll leave."

"Why a diet Coke?"

"Because I'm thirsty."

"10-4, Agent Bristow."

"Let's go."

****

TBC...

* * *

**Chapter Three:** Black, Red, Green, or Blue?  
**Chapter Four:** The New Warehouse

Sorry for the shortness, but I figured I'd throw in some fluffy humour before the plot starts to take over. Hope you enjoyed! Don't forget to tell me what you like.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	3. Black, red, green, blue?

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Title, Author, Rating, Genre, 'Shippers' Paradise, Archived, Summary, Spoilers/Timeline: all the same. :)

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Disclaimer: Still don't own Alias (if I had about a trillion more dollars {making my total one trillion and two dollars}, _maybe_ I could buy Alias off of J.J.). To add to this, I don't own Scooby Doo, Wal-Mart, 50 Cent, and Papa Roach. Don't sue!

****

Author's Note: At the end…

*~*

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This Chapter: Hair dye and inappropriate sandwiches run rampant; another case of Shocked!Jack.

****

Suggested Soundtrack: Anything by Queens (preferably "We Will Rock You"), "Split Personality" by P!nk, "Just a Girl" and "Spiderwebs" by No Doubt.

****

Chapter 3: Black, Red, Green, or Blue?

"Black, red, green, or blue?"

"What? Weiss shut up. We're trying to sleep."

"No, you're trying to grope each other under the covers without anyone noticing."

"Weiss! Go to sleep!"

"No. Not until you answer my question: black, red, green, or blue? Or maybe I should bleach my hair and go blonde. Or frost the tips! Oh, this has turned out to be quite the perplexing conundrum."

"I'll perplex your conundrum if you don't lie down on that couch and leave us alone."

Silence.

"Thank God, he went away. I swear, sometimes I feel like his mother. He should have his own nanny and designated playpen." Suddenly, a thumping noise sounded from the other side of the room. It got gradually louder as it approached Sydney and Vaughn in the bed. As soon as it stopped, a large animal dropped onto Vaughn from the sky. Both of them screamed as Syd groped for the light switch, finally shedding light on the scene. There was Weiss, clad in only his Scooby Doo boxers and bare chest, lying flat on top of a heavily breathing Vaughn. The two were face to face, amused eye to horrified eye. And Sydney couldn't stop laughing.

Vaughn began beating his best friend on the head with Syd's pillow with one hand and slamming a closed fist down on his back with the other. "What…the…hell…Weiss! What…the…fuck…do…you… think…you're…doing?" He choked out through gritted teeth and in between thrashes.

Eric took the assault without so much as batting an eyelash. "What? You weren't listening to me! What was I supposed to do?"

"Not that." Syd climbed back into bed beside the Vaughn/Weiss sandwich.

"Leave…us…alone…and…go…back…to…sleep!"

"Where's the fun in that?"

The female agent pulled the coves over her head and mumbled something about working with horny idiots.

It was at that moment that Jack had decided to enter the room to wake the three younger agents. The door opened and the silence was so loud that it was almost audible. The covers flew back down, and Syd caught a glimpse of Shocked!Jack before he quickly rearranged his features into a more usual façade: AngrywithClippedWords!Jack. Weiss and Vaughn had frozen in their respective positions, Vaughn's pillow-wielding hand still poised in mid-air. Both of their mouths had dropped wide open, and Sydney thought that if someone didn't do something about the tension plaguing the room…Well, she would die of asphyxiation because she was holding her breath to keep from laughing.

She saw her father take in an immensely large breath (the rising and falling of his perfectly pressed suit took a _very_ long time) and his fists clenched and unclenched in spasms at his sides. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything." No one moved for fear of suddenly staring down the barrel of a rifle. "I was going to wake you, but I see you're already up. I suggest you get going: our plane leaves in two hours." With that, he stiffly walked out of the room and closed the door firmly behind him.

Syd could hold it in no longer; she doubled over in sidesplitting laughter, inhaling the bedspread through her open mouth. Breaking out of his reverie, Vaughn heaved mightily and rolled the stupor-plagued Weiss onto the floor with a tempestuous crash. Both males knew from past experiences that Syd's laughter was dangerously contagious, and soon they were all guffawing like hyenas. Vaughn and Sydney were leaning on each other for support as Weiss was held up by the edge of the bed. They simmered down among happy sighs and abating knee slapping.

The female agent gingerly squeezed the tears from her eyes and sighed as she shifted her weight from Vaughn's shoulder to the wooden headboard. "Oh…my…God! That was _the_ funniest thing EVER! Now I _really_ feel like I'm seventeen again!"

Weiss nodded in agreement as he hoisted himself off the ground and made his way back to one of the couches. "Poor Jack. He's probably so confused right now; doesn't know what to think. I bet he only thought he had to worry about you two. Now this adds a whole new _royal_ spin on things."

Now that he had sobered up, Vaughn's temper was steadily worsening; at present it was down to disagreeable. "Royal?"

His friend didn't even turn around to answer. He just kept shuffling through the plastic bags that they had acquired from Wal-Mart the day before. "Royal…You know, _queens_," He replied pointedly, his head buried in plastic.

Vaughn still looked confused, which almost set Syd off again. "Queens?"

Eric sighed in exasperation, finally finding what he was looking for. "If you are _ever_ going to pass for a teenager, you're going to have to brush up on your kiddie slang."

"Kiddie slang?"

"Oh dear God!"

Abandoning Vaughn in the bed, Syd moseyed over to the closet to choose clothes for her day as a twenty-eight-year-old. She chose a simple pair of jeans and a red tank. Before going into the bathroom to change, she paused at the doorway with her hand on the doorknob. "Weiss?" He looked up. "What were you muttering about? Red or black what?"

His face lit up in recognition, and he pulled out one of their plastic bags. "Hair colour. I was asking for advice as to which colour I should dye my hair. But apparently you all don't care about the stability of my cover—"

"Weiss, not _all_ teenagers dye their hair. Especially guys. There's more of them hanging around with their natural hair colour than girls."

"What would you happen to know about this, Grandma?"

"Do you know our average age is twenty-nine? That's not that much older then them—"

"Ten years plus!"

"It's not that much older than me or younger than you, which means I can still easily kick your ass—"

"How the hell did you draw that conclusion?"

"And plus, I happen to like 50 Dolla and Mama Roach."

"I believe it's 50 _Cent_ and _Papa_ Roach," Vaughn chimed in haughtily.

"Shut up!" Syd hurled a shoe at his head and left for the bathroom.

Vaughn caught the object and lobbed it back to where she picked it up. Sitting up straighter against the headboard he turned to Weiss and asked, "Now, what were you saying about hair dye?"

Weiss cleared his throat importantly and motioned towards the bag. "I was going to say that dying one's hair is like a rite of passage. No, no, no; it's like a requirement to be a teenager or something."

His friend narrowed his eyes and bit his lip in thought. After a few moments he replied amicably, "Yeah, you're right. But just to be on the safe side, take the dye with instead. You never what kids are like these days. Especially in a suburb of Chicago." Both gave a mutual shudder before ploughing forward into their morning routine.

***

Syd sighed as she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and picked up her travel papers. Well, Olivia Brown's travel papers. And, funny thing, Olivia _Brown's_ hair wasn't brown…it was a nice _orange_. _'Yay,'_ Syd thought as she opened a door just off the entryway. Inside was a room full of small accessories that would be necessary for any good cover: earrings, pins, necklaces, hair dye, and wigs. In the far back was a head of long, straight orange hair. French braiding her hair and tucking it under a thin skull cap, she fitted it over her head without a second thought. She flipped the strange hair over her shoulder and exited the room, almost running into Weiss on the way out.

She gave him a quizzical look and he said, "I need a bald cap."

"A bald cap?" She replied, incredulous.

"Yep. Like Kendall bald," He answered, digging one out of a box next to the hair dye. "You should see what Vaughn has to wear."

As soon as he said that, a very grumpy Michael Vaughn stalked in, grabbed a shoulder-length brown wig, and went back out the way he came muttering something about shooting whoever came up with these aliases.

"He better not say that too loud," Weiss commented. Syd questioned him again with a look and he added in a whisper, "Jack devised these wonderful aliases. The boy's already in hot water; I'd hate to see him strapped to a gurney and facing the wrong end of a needle full of poison."

She smiled and shook her head helplessly as they both strode away form the entrance hall. Her father and Vaughn were waiting for them at the card table. Jack had merely donned a faux moustache and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses while Vaughn wore the ridiculous wig. (How anyone could ever think that the hair was real was beyond her.) On the back of each chair was an identical leather jacket. Before he had left the Ops Centre, Jack had made a trip down to Op Tech to retrieve them. They contained "peek-proof" (Marshal's words, not Jack's) pockets which were invisible to metal detectors, x-ray cameras, etc. Each agent loaded the pockets ranging in size from a square inch to a square foot with various items including the information on their teenage/teacher persona and a small pistol. After triple-checking their equipment-heavy (and also peek-proof) luggage, each of them took a deep breath.

They were about to embark on a mission the likes of which none of them had ever been on before — and probably never would again. None of them knew how successful they were going to be at their specific roles, but they were all certain that their objective would be reached. Syd could tell that each one of them — even her father — were nervous, but the familiar adrenaline was already pumping through her veins. All she could think was, _'This is going to be fun.'_

*~*

Okay. Hello. :)

Sorry this was so short, but if I kept going it would be insanely long. The next chapter is already in the works, but I don't know when it will be appearing on the scene. Hope the quartet isn't _too_ horribly out of character. And I also hope you liked this! Leave feedback! Constructive criticism is the bombiest!

Don't worry: I'll be getting to the band camp (oh Lordy) and the registration and the First Day of School soon enough. [laughs evilly]

Oh! And if you can tell me why the P!nk and No Doubt songs are on the "soundtrack", I'll give you extra-special, extra-tasty brownie points. (Yeah. That's where it's at.)

:) Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	4. The New Warehouse

**No changes here…**

**This Chapter:** new code names (for some), the plane ride, and description of new home…also the chapter of "slang" and "lots of quotation marks."

**Suggested Soundtrack:** Nothing major. "Hella Good" by No Doubt, "Points of Authority" by Linkin Park, and "Feels Like Home" by Chantal Kreviazuk.

**Author's Note:** Okay, this was originally going to be a mondo-big chapter, but I had to split it up in order to accommodate everyone's sanity. So instead of a giant chapter, y'all get two slightly smaller chapters. [hides behind Michael Vartan] Oh, and _rectoris_ is Latin for "director".

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Seventeen Again

Chapter 4: The New Warehouse

"Chameleon is in position."

"Copy that, Chameleon. Band Geek is in position."

"Copy that, Band Geek and Chameleon. _Rectoris_ is in position."

"Why am I the only one whose code name didn't change?"

"Stop complaining and do your job."

"Fine. Copy that _Rectoris_, Band Geek, and Chameleon. Boy Scout is in position."

"Good, Alpha Team. _Rectoris_ going radio silent."

"Boy Scout going radio silent."

"Band Geek going radio silent."

"Chameleon going radio silent."

"See you in Chicago, Alpha Team."

Syd (also known as Chameleon) settled back into her window seat with a sigh. Already she had to deal with two children next to her, a man in front of her who had put back his seat so that he was practically laying in her lap, and the person behind her who had obviously decided that kicking the back of her seat was a sport and he was going to try for the Olympic team. Instead of "losing her cool" (she was starting to integrate slang into her vocabulary), she took a deep cleansing breath and extracted her headphones from her carry-on. Soon enough Linkin Park was rocking her eardrums at full volume, yet not nearly drowning out the fighting kids and their pleading mother.

About halfway through the flight and two CD changes later (Eve 6 and Matchbox 20 had also graced the airwaves), the kicking of her seat stopped and her shoulder was tapped. She turned around, aggravated beyond belief and exclaimed, "What? What could you possibly want now? A gold medal for your excellence in annoyance?"

The man moved so that she could finally see his face. "Hey Syd. How long did it take you to get that stick so far up your ass? Or your foot that far down your throat?"

Sydney wrinkled her nose and dropped her temple against her seat, blush creeping across her cheeks and clashing horribly with her hair. "Sorry, Weiss. I didn't know that it was you."

He smirked back good-naturedly. "Well, it wasn't up until a few moments ago. I traded seats with the guy in exchange for my lunch."

"Ooh. That's a big sacrifice."

"Yeah, I know." As if on cue, Eric's stomach growled loudly. "And I don't even get to sleep with you. How sad is that?"

"Aw! Weiss Oh, come here. I'll give you something." As he eagerly brought his face closer she had to fight back a laugh, and she placed a small, sweet kiss on his temple. "There. To get you through all those lonely nights we all know you're going to have."

Eric frowned playfully and sat back in his seat to survey the rest of the airplane. His original seat had been in the front of the craft on the right side; he had been the farthest from the rest. Syd was situated in the midsection of the left side, and Vaughn and Jack were in the back, one on each faction, probably so that Jack could fix his hawk-like surveillance over his daughter's boyfriend. He stretched nonchalantly, his elbow narrowly missing the businesswoman next to him, and discreetly looked behind him to the rear of the plane. What he saw was Vaughn rising from his seat. Catching his friend's eye, Mike nodded his chin towards the orange-haired lady and then at the bathroom. Then he squeezed past his rowmates and strolled calmly to the miniscule bathroom.

Sydney was oblivious.

Weiss turned back to her; she was already changing her CD again (something called NOW 9 ) and he had to practically slap her across the face to regain her attention. "Looks like someone wants to see you in his office. Just make sure he's not sitting on his throne." She lifted her gaze and caught a glimpse of Vaughn's back before he disappeared behind the grey plastic door. The rouge in her cheeks reappeared as she slipped off the headphones and unbuckled her seatbelt. She slid past the two children, desperately attempting to avoid twenty fingers sticky with candy residue, and started calmly towards the bathroom. Before she got too far she heard Weiss's voice stage whisper, "Just don't do anything that you wouldn't want me hearing about later. Welcome to the mile high club, Olivia."

Her face was as red as one of the children's crayons when she knocked her name in Morse code upon the door. It opened and she was swiftly pulled inside the tight space. "Vaughn! Aren't we getting a little bold? A) We're on a mission. Two: my dad's only about ten feet away. Damn, this is sexy. Though I think you better take off that wig: you look like a Hippie Ken Doll." She wrapped her arms firmly around his neck and allowed her fingers to draw circles on his neck while she assaulted his lips. At first he responded, melding into her embrace and placing his hands on her hips to pull her closer. But when she parted her lips to deepen the kiss, he pulled away with an audible pop and tried to recover his composure. Syd looked at him with confusion. "Um, hello? I'm practically throwing myself at you, damn it! What do I have to say? 'Take me, big boy'?"

Vaughn sighed heavily, struggling in vain to perch himself on the small counter around the sorry excuse for a sink. "Syd, you have no idea how much I just want to 'take you' here and now, but we have work to do."

She leaned against the opposite wall and crossed her bare arms over her chest. "You've got to be kidding me! What do we have to do, steal some super high-tech straws off a stewardess?"

Giving a small chuckle as he shook his head he replied, "Sadly, no. But you can do that, anyway, if you want." He received a glaring frown. "Jack paged me and when I called him back, he said that the CIA had the wrong date for registration. It's tomorrow."

Her eyes widened and she blinked rapidly in disbelief. "No way. _No way, Vaughn!_ None of us are prepared yet! We haven't even had enough time to sufficiently study maps of the school, let alone get acquainted with all of teen culture! We've had two days — count 'em, two! — to study these children and their oh-so-complicated rules and emotions! Oh God, we're going to fail. This mission is going to fall flat on its ass before it even gets off the ground."

"Okay breathe in, breathe out. In with the good, out with the bad," He counseled, restraining a smile from his face. "First of all, we're already off the ground." She laughed dryly. "Second, just relax! How many kids could possibly show up for senior registration during the summer? Not that many. So we'll just show up really early, get everything done that needs to be done, and jet out of there as fast as possible. Teens don't know how to show up on time, so we'll be in the clear as long as we keep human contact down to a minimum. Got it?"

She nodded, still slightly wary, and sighed as she glanced at her watch. "Vaughn, we've been in here for a good fifteen minutes. Think everyone's talking about us?"

A wicked smile ignited in the male agent's eyes. "Let's give them something to talk about." Syd rose her eyebrows and smiled slyly, sashaying towards him and swinging her hips. He quickly put up his hands in defense. "No, no, no! Are you kidding me? Your father is ten feet away." The grin disappeared as her entire face dropped. "I've got a better idea. Stand by the door." She stepped exactly one foot to her right and stood stark still. Vaughn put his hands on the counter and raised himself up, bracing his feet against the opposite wall. With one last impish grin, he began kicking against it with intense vigor and moaning escaped from somewhere near the back of his throat. After a split second of being "weirded out" (there was the slang again), Syd caught on and began enacting her role: banging on the door, rattling its hinges, and moaning in a high-pitched nasal tone getting progressively louder and more frenzied. The two locked eyes and struggled to keep from laughing as they timed their mutual "climaxes". When their synchronized "moaning" and "heavy breathing" slowed, they rearranged the other's appearance so that they resembled a couple that had been recently "pleased in a sexual way".

Syd mussed her tank top and smiled at her boyfriend. "See you in Sugarville," She whispered, opening the door with a yank. She strode confidently back to her seat, acutely aware of the copious amount of stares that followed her form. Sinking down into her chair next to two vacant seats (the children were sitting on their parents' laps, the entire family staring at her like she was the Devil incarnate), Syd could practically feel Weiss's surprise.

"You know, Syd, I didn't think you'd actually take me seriously. I mean, your dad's _right there_!" He whispered, wedging his round head between the wall of the plane and the edge of the chair. She only shrugged her shoulders and ran a hand through her orange strands. Eric raised an eyebrow and offered her a half-smile. "So are you gonna tell me about it, or am I gonna have to pry it out of Mr. No Kiss and Tell over there?"

"You know, Weiss? You of all people should be able to tell when a woman is faking it," She replied. Looking beyond her fellow agent, she saw Vaughn reclaim his seat with a silly grin. Out of the corner of her eye, Syd glimpsed her father, his face positively livid, glaring daggers at her boyfriend. He looked like it was taking all of his will power and years of spy training to refrain from leaping to Vaughn's seat and jumping the poor man. Weiss followed her gaze, and she started chuckling quietly. "I guess no one here can tell when a woman fakes. And I thought you two were spies!"

For once in his life Eric looked flustered. "You mean you didn't — He didn't give you a — It wasn't — You were—"

"Totally faking, Weiss. Both of us: nothing happened. Though you should have seen your face when I came out of that bathroom; it was priceless!" Syd had a short-lived giggle before continuing on. "There's been an update on the mission. The CIA had the wrong date for registration. We actually have to be at the high school tomorrow to get our schedules and lockers and crap."

His eyes widened. "What? No way! You're kidding!"

"My reaction exactly. So we have to keep contact with other teenagers at a minimum and get there really early — no sleeping in, Eric." He nodded in disappointment as she re-extracted her headphones. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get back to listening to J. Ho, Destiny's Mother, and company."

"Syd, I believe it's J. _Lo_ and Destiny's _Child_."

"Whatever."

"See? You're a teenager already."

* * *

They landed without a hitch (although the children never returned to their seats), and each agent took a separate cab to their respective house. Before Jack had entered his cab, he locked eyes with Sydney and gave his daughter a small nod. It may have been a weak attempt to reassure his daughter (he would not be able to see her again before the day preceding band camp), but it gave her strength and resolve to _find a way to make the situation go her way_. She loaded herself into the next available cab and sped away towards her new house.

What struck Sydney first was that it was a very quiet town. Children were biking down the sides of the road and screaming at each other, playing basketball games in driveways and climbing over equipment on playgrounds. Restaurants had names like Tony's Steamers and John's Buffet, their doors open to serve the duel purposes of luring new hungry customers and letting out the heat from the grills. There was not a McDonald's, Old Navy, or shopping mall in sight; two strip malls, and that was it. Sugarville's "downtown" was clustered around the three sets of tracks that cut through the middle of the town (or village as the town's sign proclaimed proudly); it consisted of said John's Buffet, the train station, one of those strip malls, Town Hall, and Sugarville Fuel which apparently sold landscaping equipment.

'_How could anyone in this town be involved in an illegal narcotics ring? I wonder if Glenfield is this wholesome?'_ She asked herself as they passed the middle and elementary schools. Even though school was still out for the youngsters of the town, children were swinging, sliding, and playing tag on the modest school playground while their mothers chatted animatedly on the sidelines. _'They all seem so innocent. This is the small town America that we're fighting to protect.'_ They passed a single gas station, the local library, and many, many homes. No apartment buildings, townhouses, or condos; only simple one/two story houses with front porches and multitudes of foliage.

When her cab pulled up to her home for the next nine months half of her was relieved, the other half disappointed, and all of her was charmed. It was a one-story L-shaped ranch with deep brown stain and white trim. A silver maple, pine tree, a pussy willow bush, two evergreen bushes, and three lilac trees graced the front lawn, and she could clearly see that a lush forest loomed just beyond the backyard fence. She quickly paid the cabby and rushed to the door, eager to unlock the quaint abode.

There was no entry hall, but a coat rack/hat tree stood to her right and there was a closet down the hall to her left. Straight in front of her, the family room opened up, and the same happened if she turned to her left, but there was a ledge from the floor to about waist height. The family room came equipped with a couch, loveseat, recliner, entertainment centre, coffee table, and bookcase. A pair of floor-to-ceiling sliding doors let in small quantities of light despite their eastern exposure. Forgetting her luggage at the door, she rushed into the kitchen. A table under two windows would be used for eating meals. A refrigerator was on her immediate right and doors to the garage and basement respectively were directly in front of her across the room. Cabinets lined the south and west walls, with a stove accompanying the fridge on the north.

She retraced her steps to reclaim her luggage and tour the rest of the home. Directly at the end of the hall was a room that could serve as a home office: a couch, a desk, and a computer were the only furnishings in the fairly spacious room. She turned left and down the shaft of the L. First door on the left was a bathroom; on the right was a small guest bedroom that she did not bother to look into. A hall closet was on her left and a large bedroom on her right. At the end of the short corridor was the master bedroom and connecting bathroom, both done in muted purples and beiges. Syd dropped off her luggage in this room before going to take a peek at the previous bedroom.

Its walls were painted pink, but that was about the only remotely displeasing aspect of the room. The entire east wall was a closet, crammed to the brim with "teenager clothes"; Syd sighed in relief. The north wall contained a nightstand and queen-sized bed with windows lined above them. A desk was stuffed in the northwest corner, a loveseat sat under two windows, and two bookcases kissed in the southwest corner. A small entertainment case (including TV, stereo, and VCR), mirrored vanity, and bulletin board rounded out the room. Personal affects were everywhere: fake achievement medals, plaques, certificates, and trophies lined the otherwise book-filled bookcases. Movies and CDs decorated the slots under the VCR and surround-sound stereo system, and candles and pens dotted the desk. The walls were devoid of posters (_'Thank God!'_) but Sydney was itching to tack some up.

This was obviously supposed to be her room. She did not know which room to stay in; both chambers needed to look lived in, so it was really a matter of preference; the other she could always just dirty as fast as she cleaned. For some odd reason she was drawn to the teenager's room: maybe because it was brighter — both in colour and in light — or maybe just because it had a teen-aged aura about it. She could feel the youth radiating from the very walls. So she trudged back into the master bedroom, dragged the suitcases next door, and began to "unpack".

* * *

"No, Vaughn, I'm serious. There is absolutely _no_ dishwasher. All the clunking and sloshing you're hearing yeah, that's me _trying_ to do the dishes by hand." Another plastic cup slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor and Syd sighed.

Vaughn laughed on the other side of the line. "I'm so sorry, Syd. Haven't you ever had to do your own dishes before? It's really not that hard. I'd show you, but I'm kinda busy with my own house " He had called her on one of the untraceable cell phones they had all received before they left the Ops Centre two days ago. She had finished unpacking (she decided to store her technical equipment in the closet in the master bedroom), shed the orange wig, and was eating dinner when her cell started beeping the familiar tune. Since then she discovered that the house was devoid of a dishwasher but the basement (_'Oh, a basement!'_) had a washer and dryer. At the present, Syd was still hung up on the lack of a mechanical dish cleaner.

"Yeah, I know," She breathed, drying off said cup and putting it back in the cabinet. "Hey, have you heard anything from Weiss yet?"

The other agent snorted through the phone. "I called him, but he was too busy with his seventy-four-inch TV, satellite dish, DVD player, VCR, TiVo, bar, pool table, and stereo system to talk to his best friend. And that's just his basement! I want to strangle the man."

Syd laughed heartily at the melodramatic venom in his tone. She could just imagine Weiss kicking back on a leather couch with a cold beer and a bowl of popcorn, flipping through every sports channel known to man. "Don't worry. I'm sure he'll get bored with his little Man Toys and play with you soon enough," She teased good-naturedly, draining the sink and rinsing it out while cradling the phone with her shoulder. Leaning against the counter she asked abruptly, "Why have we been so casual with this mission? Why have the rules been so lax? Wouldn't you think that this would be like any other operation?"

She could practically hear him shake his head. "Syd, where do you think these _teenaged thugs_ could possibly get the resources to come even close to exposing us? We can relax the rules a bit, but they're still there. And anyways, didn't you enjoy our meeting in the bathroom? It could be our new warehouse!"

If she had been right next to him she would have smothered him with a pillow. "Don't remind me of that awful, awful place!" Settling down on the loveseat in the family room, Sydney felt the silence descend around her like dust on a windowsill. As small as the house was, she felt painfully alone and cut off from everyone. "Vaughn? I've never lived alone before; I've either lived with my father or Francie. This place is so small it's big, and it's kinda scary. I'm lonely, Vaughn. I have no one to talk to but myself. Can't you lax one of those rules and get your ass over here? I've got a nice collection of DVDs and movies."

He groaned softly and replied, "Sorry, Syd, but the rules can't be that relaxed. At least, not yet. I'm sure I could make my way over, but that would require yet another wig, and I've already burned that long one." She laughed loudly and silently gave thanks for what little fashion sense he had. "Well, I've got to go. Both the microwave and my messy room are calling my name."

"But so am I! And aren't I more desirable than a TV dinner?"

"Oh yeah. But things still need to be done."

"And I'm one of them."

"Later, beautiful. Save it for later."

"Fine, fine. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow."

"Bye."

"Bye, Syd."

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Five:** Registration Day  
**Chapter Six:** "One Time at Band Camp…"

Hope you liked this one! I just couldn't resist the thing on the plane; it was _so_ much fun to write!

Anyways, leave reviews/feedback! I love them so much! Constructive criticism is always welcome!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	5. Registration Day

**Why would I change something now?**

**This Chapter:** Introduction to Uncle Mikey and Anne, and Registration Day at last!

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "AM Radio" by Everclear, "Mobile" and "My World" by Avril Lavigne, "Meet Virginia" by Train, "Start the Commotion" by Wiseguys feat. Greg Nice, "Digital Get Down" by 'N Sync (you'll see why)

**Author's Note:** Second part of Chapter Four, which is also known as Chapter Five! Enjoy! Leave feedback/reviews! I love constructive criticism! Props to my beta Annie!

* * *

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter 5: Registration Day**

Syd awoke the next morning to meaningless DJ prattle and groaned loudly, stretching her arms up over her head and inadvertently cracking her back. She half expected to roll over and find a half-naked Vaughn — or at least warm sheets — but, alas, all she found was a slightly wrinkled green comforter. Humming softly to the Avril Lavigne CD she had popped into the portable boom box, she showered and dressed in the most colorful clothes she could find in the giant collection. She donned a frayed pair of rust-tinted jeans with blue-green dragons wrapping around both legs and a lace-fringed blue and white open-sleeved peasant shirt. This was easily the most material she had even worn when going on a mission. If she had sewn all of her disguises together they probably would have equaled the shirt alone.

Turning on the TV to the local news to chase away the silence, she began banging around in the kitchen, trying to find the pans in order to make bacon and eggs. She gave up after seven cabinet doors and opted for cereal and an apple. Switching off the kitchen TV, she moved into the family room and sat sideways on the recliner, staring unseeingly at the colorful screen until she had finished. On the way back to the trashcan she started working on her "high school voice".

"Hi, I'm Jane."

No, a little higher.

"Hi, I'm Jane."

Less ditzy.

"Hi, I'm Jane."

Perfect.

She tossed out the apple core and abandoned her dishes in the sink. Leaning against the counter, Syd began to think about Registration Day. Her father had called her cell phone immediately after she hung up with Vaughn; she guessed he assumed that she had been talking with Vaughn and _that _was why his words were clipped and tone harsh. He informed her that they were to be using the same comm. links as on the Wal-Mart trip, registration started at nine, and good luck. She deftly fingered the American flag necklace and a thought occurred to her that made her stand up straight and widen her eyes. How was she going to get to the high school? Sure they had gone over maps of the layout of the actual building (albeit briefly), but _getting_ there? And especially from her house!

'_Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! I am in deep on this one!'_ Her mind screamed as she practically climbed into the cabinets searching for a phonebook or roadmap of the area. At first, she had ruled out the possibility of taking a cab (_'Who the hell cares that much about school to pay for a cab if they have no other mode of transportation?'_), but now that did not sound so bad after all.

Abandoning her search of the kitchen, she was tearing through the family room on the way to the den when something on the coffee table caught her eye. Contrasting greatly with the dark wood, a white piece of paper fluttered in her wake, held down only by a pair of silver keys. She backtracked and handled both, reading the note aloud. "Dear Jane: Happy early graduation. Hope it's to your liking. Love: your Uncle Mikey." In the lower right-hand corner were the letters "GC".

Sydney could feel the remnants of her melted heart dripping down into her shoes. Grabbing her purse and turning off the TV, she rushed out the door and down the walk to the driveway where a forest green Civic EX sat proudly. A _non-government-issued_ Civic EX. She slid inside and checked the glove compartment (following the instructions on the note) and found not only another slip of paper, but also a cream cheese-slathered bagel and a cup of coffee that was still steaming hot. Sipping the liquid gladly she again read the note aloud. "Uncle Mikey is paying the rent for this car, so you better enjoy it and you better be careful. Good luck. MV." A simple map was drawn on the back of the slip of paper showing the most direct route to the school. Shaking her head in happy disbelief, she started the car and began on her way to Registration Day.

* * *

"Chameleon is in position."

"Copy that, Chameleon."

"Band Geek is in position."

"Copy that, Band Geek."

"You know, I'd really like to change my code name, if you don't mind—"

"We do mind!"

"Fine. Boy Scout is in position."

"Copy that, Boy Scout. Base Camp suggests radio silence."

"Negative, Base Camp. Chameleon requests radio contact during mission."

"Boy Scout seconds request."

"Permission granted. Good luck Alpha Team."

Sydney fiddled with her necklace again and nervously fixed her hair. Upon arriving, she had to circle the entire school twice in order to not only find a parking spot but the correct entrance. (_'How many doors does this place have? A through H? Come on!'_) She made it inside and ran directly into a line that snaked down the entire semi-lit hallway. Raising herself on her toes, she could just barely make out Weiss about twenty people in front of her clad in a number twenty-one Sammy Sosa Chicago Cubs jersey, khaki board shorts, and sandals. _'Mental note: never let that man wear sandals again.'_

Surprisingly enough, neither of them stood head and shoulders above the rest; Syd felt extremely short what with the flip-flops she had donned but she prevailed a good few inches over most of the girls she could see. She wondered how Vaughn compared to the rest of them. But something else made her talk directly into her communications device. "Hey Weiss? Can I talk to Vaughn alone for a little bit?"

"You two aren't gonna have comm. link sex, are you?"

"No! Not with my dad listening, anyway."

"Fine, I'll leave you two alone. Vaughn, she's all yours again."

Syd sighed as she heard a small click and a soft, "Hey."

"Is my car from you?"

"Yes." He was embarrassed, and she would bet anything that he was blushing.

"How did you get into my house? 'Cause if you simply picked the locks, I need a security system."

He laughed but said soberly, "Your dad must have slipped one of your house keys in with mine, because when I tried to get into my house, one of them didn't work. Then Jack called just a few minutes after I hung up with you to discuss transportation issues. He brought up the point that none of us have cars, and he didn't want the CIA to issue us vehicles, so I volunteered to rent us different cars. You now have an Uncle Mikey who lives in Omaha, Nebraska, my dad built my car, Jack brought his car from Iowa, and Weiss's mom is very, very nice."

"That sounds wrong on so many levels."

"Eh, it happens."

Suddenly Weiss's voice crackled into her ear. "Band Geek going temporarily radio silent."

Syd's insides froze. "Why? What happened?"

"Calm down, Chameleon. I just have to talk to the dean; he's taking ID pictures."

"Oh." If she looked as ashamed as she felt, she had better stop blushing before someone thought she was crazy.

Fifteen very long minutes later, she went radio silent as she came upon a cart with a computer perched on top across from a light blue backdrop. They were attended by a short, greying and almost bald-headed Hispanic man who smiled up at her with an air of confusion. "I don't believe I've ever seen you before."

'_Get into character, Syd.'_ "Hi, I'm Jane. Jane Porter. I transferred here from Los Angeles." She extended her hand as a reflex and he shook it, bewilder flittering across his face before disappearing.

"Yes. You're one of three new students in the senior class this year." He gestured for her to take a seat in front of the blue screen. "I'm Mr. Arroyo, one of your deans. My office is right near where you came in if you ever need anything." Pausing for a moment, he looked down at the computer and it began making noises, finally spitting out a two-by-three inch piece of plastic. He handed it to her and smiled. "Go straight ahead and then take a right into Commons. You can't miss it," Dean Arroyo added, laughing slightly at her confused expression. She nodded slowly and adjusted the necklace, switching on her comm. link again.

Immediately, she heard smooth and fluent French floating into her ear through her earpiece along with Eric's sad attempt at being a jock. Both of them were just slightly audible over a multitude of other excited chatter. Out of that discombobulation, Sydney could hear a female voice conversing in French with a terribly noticeable American accent. This piqued her interest but before she got a chance to whisper anything she came upon "Commons". It was obviously the school's cafeteria, and at the moment it had a corral of long lunch tables strategically placed around various pillars. Inside the temporary fencing, adults older than her were bustling about from place to place — stations, she realized — and outside Outside was pure chaos. Seventeen-year-olds were crammed into every available orifice of the large room, talking and laughing and moving as one giant rippling sea. She widened her eyes and gasped in disbelief.

"Oh God."

A small laugh floated over their frequency. "Boy Scout, looks like she found Commons." Vaughn laughed directly into his comm. link before continuing his French conversation. Weiss continued, "Look, just get through there as soon as possible. Most of them are just milling around. Hurry up; we're waiting for you."

"What?" She whispered into her chest. "Why are you waiting?"

"Don't ask, just do!" was Vaughn's hurried response.

She internally shrugged and started to push her way through the crowd. The fact that most of the girls were wearing enough make-up and just enough clothing to match what Syd looked like on any other mission barely registered as she began making her way through the stations. She checked her medical records, paid for tuition and her yearbook, declined joining FBLA and SADD (she told them she would think about it), received extraneous bus route information, and was given her schedule and locker along with a map of the school. Sydney was intently studying her schedule while shoving a path towards the way she came in when someone grabbed on to her elbow, tugging her out of the stream of people.

Syd was confronted by a shorter girl, only about 5'2" or 5'3", with chin-length blonde hair, fair skin, and the greyest eyes she had ever witnessed. Though the girl definitely was not the slimmest person she had seen wandering through Commons, the girl oozed personality and had a bright, welcoming smile. "Hi, I'm Anne," She introduced, leading her over to the vending machines in the corner. "You must be Jane Porter. Come on, we were waiting for you." That was when she noticed Weiss and Vaughn leaning against a Coke and a water machine respectively, politely ignoring the other's existence. Vaughn's denim jacket, concert tee, and baggy jeans did not quite fit in, but he pulled it off magnificently. "These guys are Greg and Michael. They're new as well. I'm gonna show you around a bit, if that's okay with you." Sydney nodded shyly. She threw a sideways glance out of the corner of her eye at Vaughn, who was looking her up and down in a lewd manner.

Anne pushed her way out of Commons and stopped directly outside. "This is the cafeteria — more commonly known as Commons. It's where you'll eat lunch which for Greg that is—" She checked a card in her hand "—eighth hour. Jane: sixth Hey that's when I have lunch, too! You can sit with me." The two exchanged smiles before Anne continued. "Michael, your lunch is fifth hour. _Tu mangeas ici. Cinqiéme heure_," She translated. Sydney knotted her brows together in confusion. "Michael's transferring here from France. He's basically the only reason I'm showing you around; he insisted that we waited for all the _nouvelles personnes_." Vaughn smiled proudly.

"Yes, I understood you," Sydney responded without thinking. In her earpiece, her father began to scold her. "I took French at my school back in California. The only reason I'm not in French Four here is because they couldn't transfer my foreign language credits." Smiling, she was inwardly groaning. Syd hoped with all her heart that her father could create records that could back up her story.

The other girl smiled pleasantly. "Well then! I don't need to lead y'all around! Sweet!" She began walking down the hall straight in front of them perpendicular to the Entrance A hallway. "I can tell you the basics and some guidelines, and then y'all can find your classes. I bet you have 'em all together, anyways; after sophomore year the selection gets really small and some classes are only offered once or twice a day. And since you know French, Jane, you can translate for Michael!" She led them through a set of doors, turned right, and trooped up a stairwell to the second floor. "This is Senior Hall. Since you weren't here to pick lockers, though, you guys are on the third floor." They had to exit that particular stairwell, turned left, through another set of doors, left again, and right to get onto another set of stairs. As soon as the group was deposited on the third floor, they were confronted with their lockers.

Anne smiled again. "This is the end of the line for me. Um, okay, what do you need to know Oh! No matter what anyone says, there is no fourth floor, _pas de troisiéme étage_. The four hundreds are in Lincoln: go down to the first floor and go north. It's a separate building connected by this walkway that gets really cold in the winter, and the school only has foreign languages

"For gym, just go to the Bishop Gym on the first day of each semester; the teachers'll tell you where to go from there.

"If your backpack is heavier than ten pounds, you're officially a freshman. Most seniors around here don't carry backpacks anyway.

"Don't worry about hazing or anything; the only people who're targeted are usually male JV, sophomore, and freshmen football players." Eric looked a little uneasy at this; he did not know which level he would be playing at yet.

"Anything else? Oh, yeah. Good luck trying to get a parking spot. You'll need it." The younger girl smiled knowingly and nodded once. "Well, I think that's it. Can y'all find your way around okay, _ça va?_" All three nodded and Anne excused herself, trotting down the stairs.

A quick sweep of the area concluded that the floor was devoid of people, and the three agents were allowed to talk freely. "'How many kids could possibly show up for senior registration during the summer?'" Sydney mocked her boyfriend, dropping her purse and slumping to the floor.

Vaughn shrugged helplessly. "I was wrong. So sue me!" He countered, sitting down next to her and leaning against the lockers. "Man, are we isolated. Does anyone actually have classes up here?"

"I do," Weiss replied, extracting his folded schedule out of his pocket. "Tenth hour. I have AP English Four with Courtney. Why don't we all compare schedules? Then we can see where exactly we need to go in this monster of a school."

Sydney and Vaughn laid their slips of paper on the tiled floor as well. Syd's read:

1 — AP English 4 — 220 — Tressaut, C.  
2 — Symphonic Band — 222 — Guter, J.  
3 — French 1 — 408 — Cambodie, M.  
4/5 — A H Disc-Pres — 185 — Bretts, B.  
6 — Lunch — CAF — ZZZZZZZZ  
7/8 — PE Strength (Q1) — BG — Clark, K.  
7/8 — PE Bowling (Q2) — BG — Hein, R  
9 — Chemistry — 246 — Tull, V.  
10 — Pre Calc. En. — 158 — Hassan, M.

"What's 'A H Disc-Pres'?" Syd asked suddenly.

"American History," Weiss answered immediately. "I already asked."

Attention turned to Weiss's schedule.

1 — A H Disc-Pres — 182 — Juares, S.  
2 — Symphonic Band — 222 — Guter, J.  
3 — German 1— 409 — Zeig, C.  
4/5 — PE Swim(Q1) — POOL — Lim, T.  
4/5 — PE Strength (Q2) — BG — Clark, K.  
6/7 — AP Calc BC — 156 — Borkowski, F.  
8 — Lunch — CAF — ZZZZZZZZ  
9 — Chemistry — 246 — Tull, V.  
10 — AP English 4 — 315 — Courtney, G.

"AP Calc? Why do you have a higher math class than a 4.0 honors student?"

"You're asking the wrong person, Syd. I don't think I ever even took calculus. I got into the CIA on looks alone: they had some affirmative action thing goin' on saying that they needed some fat guys to balance out the Vaughns and Sydneys of the agency."

"Shut up, Eric."

"Will do, buddy."

Last was Vaughn's slip of paper.

1 — Geometry — 142 — Babel, S.  
2 — Symphonic Band — 222 — Guter, J.  
3 — English 3 — 217 — Beckett, M.  
4/6 — A H Disc-Pres — 182 — Juares, S.  
5 — Lunch — CAF — ZZZZZZZZ  
7/8 — Study period — CAF — ZZZZZZZZ  
9 — Chemistry — 246 — Tull, V.  
10 — French 1— 406 — Seabrook, G.

"Well," Vaughn stalled, peering at all three schedules. "Looks like Weiss and I have the same teacher for American History. And you two have your foreign languages at the same time. Syd, I can walk you to American History; our classes start at the same time."

Syd sighed heavily. "Remember the whole druggies-don't-date-goody-goodies conversation? Blowing our cover? Ring a bell, anyone?" Vaughn nodded silently. Just then a group of five seniors were seen clomping up the stairs noisily and the three agents bolted off the floor guiltily. "Guess we should get going. Greg, you found your tenth hour. Let's go find our language classrooms. _On y va?_" The two men nodded and they entered the stairwell as the teens exited.

* * *

**Chapter Six:** "One Time at Band Camp…"  
**Chapter Seven:** Out of Hell

Anyways, I hope you liked this. Don't worry, the timeline will pick up as soon as the school year starts (i.e. it won't be going day by day or less). And remember, not all of this will be hi-lariously funny; some of this will be (gasp!) serious. The seriousness will be integrated slowly and the humour will ALWAYS be there, but…you'll see what I mean. [grins evilly] Plot bunnies…attack!

Feedback is lover-ly.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	6. One Time At Band Camp

**Everything's the same…yadda, yadda, yadda… (That's a good story, by the way.)**

**This Chapter:** It's title says everything: the First Day of Band Camp

**Suggested Soundtrack:** Music from the opera _Carmen_…(I'm looking through my flip folder)… "Land of 1000 Dances," "A Hard Day's Night," "Hey! Baby!," "Good Golly Miss Molly," "Oye Como Va," "Twist and Shout," and any song featuring a jaw harp.

**Author's Note:** Band geeks unite!

* * *

**Seventeen Again **

**Chapter 6: "One Time At Band Camp "**

Sydney learned her lesson from Registration Day: this time, she was determined to be early. The first day of band camp started at nine and she _would_ get a parking spot at Entrance A. To ensure this, she set her alarm for six thirty and was showered, dressed in another peasant shirt (black this time) and dark blue jeans, and fed by eight o'clock. She killed time for about twenty minutes, figuring that if she left at eight twenty, accounting for the rush hour traffic, she would get there at about eight forty: plenty of time to find a parking space. Immensely proud of herself, she slid into her car and fired it up at exactly eight twenty.

True to her calculations, she turned the corner and saw the school at eight forty. But what made her want to scream and bang her head against the steering wheel repeatedly was the fact that the entire parking lot that spanned the back of the school from Entrance A to C was full. She was forced to park in the teachers' parking lot by Entrance H and walk to the other entrance from there. It was dead silent in the school — which disquieted Sydney quite a bit — but she followed the signs nonetheless. They pointed her down the hallway and to the left side of the second corridor parallel to the parking lot. When she reached her destination she hesitated for a moment, believing that Weiss and Vaughn had possibly set her up. The door had a sign taped to it that said "copier room", but she turned the handle anyway, figuring that they could not possibly have the nerve to con her while on a mission. She rounded a corner to her immediate left, went through another door, up a staircase, through two more doors, and then the band room opened up.

And about one hundred and fifty people stared back at her.

Not really: most of them were talking and laughing or slathering suntan lotion on their exposed arms and legs.

Sydney stood in the doorway, amazed. When she was in high school, her band was rumoured to be sixty, maybe seventy people tops. This this was crazy. Everyone had already gravitated to his or her place in concert formation: bottom terrace was clarinets on the left and flutes on the right, second tier comprised entirely of alto saxophones, third trumpets and low saxes, fourth trombones and low brass, and the fifth was percussion and the drum line. She could see Weiss conversing with an eccentric young man with an afro in the low brass section, his arm resting nonchalantly upon the bell of a large, shiny something. Sydney supposed it could have been a Sousaphone, but as soon as she had walked in all knowledge of musical instruments flew out of her head. Vaughn was standing in the northwest corner of the room, uncomfortably fiddling with a snare drum harness (and dropping his drumsticks in the process) white the rest of the section stood at the absolute opposite end of the room. Her heart went out to him and she wished that she could give him a small pep talk, but they had opted to go without any communication devices; Sydney was going to have enough trouble learning a new instrument, memorizing music, and learning how to march without hearing their sections at the same time.

Finally stepping out of the doorway, she began looking for a seat within her faction. She had to squeeze past the colour guard and their flags that lined the wooden storage closets along the south wall in order to reach the first open black chair she could find. Sighing, she glanced at the person next to her and gasped. "Anne?"

The blonde turned away from the girl she was talking to when she heard her name. It took her a moment to recognize her. "Oh hi! Jane, right? I didn't notice that you were in band! Are Greg and Michael here too?" She began craning her neck to peer at the entire room.

"Yeah. Um, Greg plays the Sousaphone, I think, and Michael plays the drums. See?" Syd pointed up at the sexy Frenchman who had abandoned his harness and was now concentrating on memorizing the music.

Anne took on a look of surprise. "Huh. That's funny. Guter doesn't usually allow first-years to play snare; he usually just sticks them in the pit to play with the Toys." Shrugging, she turned back to Sydney. "So you play piccolo too? How many years? Do you get lessons? Oh, I bet you had the best teachers out on the West Coast!"

Syd smiled and forced down her chuckle at the girl's enthusiasm. "No, I've never actually played an instrument besides the piano before." She paused for a second. "Piccolo? I thought we played flute."

"Not for marching band, we don't," She replied matter-of-factly, giving her a look. "Guter detests flutes out on the field — kids tend to get black eyes very easily — and you can barely hear piccolos from the stands as it is. Damn trumpets." Anne shook her fist at the third tier then smiled. "Well, it looks like you'll be with me today, then, if you've never played before. I'll just ask someone to take over my squad for the day. Hey Ash," She turned to the girl she had been talking to before, who was now chatting with a saxophonist. "Can you take my guys for today? I've gotta teach a newbie and whip her into shape."

"A newbie? Is she a freshman?" She asked excitedly, peering around her friend at Sydney, who offered a small wave. "'Cause that could be fun."

"Nope, she's a senior. A transfer from Cali." Peering out of another doorway, Anne rose from her seat. "Keep an eye on her, Kat. Guter needs a Bitch to pass out flip folders." With that she exited the room.

Kat scooted into her friend's old seat with an air of interest. "Cali, huh? I'm Katie Goode, fellow piccolo player and hater. And you are ?"

Syd decided not to ask about the piccolo hating. "Jane Porter," She supplied, sticking out her hand.

The former just stared until Syd retracted it. "So, do you know anything about music? Can you read? Play other instruments?"

"I can play the piano and sing, but I've never played a wind instrument. You could say I'm a piccolo virgin." In the back of her mind, a voice was angrily berating her for sounding so stupid.

Katie's eyes immediately widened and eyebrows knotted in incredulity. "I cannot believe you just said that! Just pray that Bennet didn't hear you—"

Just then a voice raised itself above the din. "Piccolo virgin? Well, you won't be for long!" Then it seemed as if the entire band joined in. "One time at band camp, I stuck a flute up my—"

"Jason!" A deep voice bellowed from the corridor.

A guy with a large head of curly brown hair and dressed in jean shorts and a baseball-style shirt stood in the clarinet section. "Yes, Mr. Guter?"

"Shut up!"

"Yes sir." He sat back down again amid applause that reverberated off the walls.

Katie uncovered her face and groaned. "Never, ever give them an opportunity like that again. We've had to put up with that since the movie came out. Also, _never_ say that you sing. We hate the choruses. There's a reason that we're in band and not chorus."

"Um, all right," Syd stammered. She had no idea what had just happened, but something told her that she would be hearing about it again. Glancing at the clock, she noticed that it was barely eight fifty and the entire room seemed to be filled. She asked Katie about it.

The latter scoffed. "When Guter says a certain time, he really means at least fifteen minutes before. Which translates to fifteen minutes before that so you can get a good parking spot. And I'm guessing you didn't." Sydney shook her eyes absently drifting towards Vaughn and his incessantly beating drumsticks. Katie followed her line of sight and her eyebrows raised in interest. "Who's the drum line hottie? Do you know him? 'Cause I've never seen him before."

Syd held an internal debate for a moment before deciding that answering affirmatively could not hurt them in any way. "Yeah. I met him at registration. His name's Michael Tibot, and he's from France."

"Well, he's definitely F-I-N-E hot. But he looks a little old to be in high school," She scrutinized. "Do you think he flunked a few times and got held back?"

Setting aside her momentary panic Syd breathed a small sigh of relief. "I don't have a clue. Anne would know more about that than me."

Katie squealed in excitement. "Anne knows the guy? And she didn't tell me? She's probably just trying to keep him for herself, the stupid whore. Well, she's gonna spill and then introduce me to my future husband." Sydney repressed her instincts to deal the girl a swift blow to the head at the mention of possibly dating him; instead she focused on the fact that she had just called her friend a whore. This sent Syd for a loop: was this supposed to be taken as an insult or just some suburb slang that she was not aware of? Deciding to dwell on it at a later time, she tuned back in to their conversation to hear Katie call out, "Anne? Anne! Over here, hon."

The girl in question had re-entered the room carrying a flip folder (Weiss had described them to her), positively miniscule sheet music, and what Syd could only assume was a piccolo case. Anne pushed down a stand so that it was horizontal and piled her packages on it. "Happy birthday, Jane. Have fun. I've gotta go translate for Michael. By the way, y'all can have lunch with us, if you want. I'll take you to our table when we get dismissed," She offered politely. Sydney declined shyly, wanting to spend alone time with "Michael" and "Greg" without having to pretend that she did not know them. Anne shrugged and started pushing her way through the multitudes of chairs and stands. Before getting through the trumpets (two of them were barring her way with their instruments) she called behind her, "Jane, stay there after Guter sends everyone out."

Syd only nodded. At the moment, she was very confused. She was trying to take in everything at once — the way they talked, looked, acted, gestured — while still on the lookout for possible drug users. Needless to say, the compartmentalizing machine in her brain was starting to fry. For the time being, she decided she would let the objective of the mission drop into misuse in order to become a more effective teenager.

But Katie had something else an the agenda. She leaned in closer and began discretely pointing out people as if she had been reading Syd's mind. "Okay, here's the people you need to know. Jason Bennet." She pointed to the guy who had been singled out by Mr. Guter. "A junior. Don't confuse him with Andy Bennet, drum line co-captain. They hate that and you'll never forget it if you do. They're not related, either.

"Sophomore Sophia Lake." Katie had turned her sights on her own section. "The resident piccolo player for concert season. Don't even _try_ for the position. And don't talk to her after the second day of band camp; she'll bitch you out about pretty much anything.

"Olivia Tamme, a senior." A disgusted look overcame her face. "Stoner-at-large. How or why she's still in band is a mystery to us all. She's got sticky fingers, too, so keep any money or valuable clothing items on you at all times."

'_I'll have to keep an eye on her,'_ Syd thought, staring at the sleeping blonde who was leaning against the doors to the hallway. _'I bet Weiss and Vaughn will want to know about her, too.'_

"Katie Walters and Tamra Jenson hang out with her, both seniors and clarinet players. Don't go near them, either.

"Now, four of the coolest people you'll ever meet are Ed Zimmerman alto sax player, Malissa Kinils drum major, Brett Page who plays pretty much any sax, and Clarance Pederson co-captain of the drum line. They're all in the jazz band and jazz combo, and they're just about the coolest people you'll ever meet. Just yeah, you'll see." Suddenly the redheaded Ed pulled out a metal jaw harp from his pocket and began strumming.

"Here's general advice: don't go anywhere near any of the trumpets. They're all dumb ass losers whose egos are gigantic and can't play anything right. Oh God. John's getting out his trumpet. Someone take it away from Motz!" Ash yelled across the room. Three fellow trumpeters tugged the instrument away form their friend's lips. "Thank God," She mumbled, turning back to Sydney. "Anything else you want to know?"

Sydney opened her mouth to ask more about this Olivia Tamme, but Katie's hand sliced through the air to silence her before she started. A man with greying hair, over-sized glasses, a straw hat, plaid short-sleeved shirt, shorts, glaring white legs, and the largest beer belly Syd had ever seen was stalking towards the director's stand. As soon as he waved his hand to signal that he wanted silence, everyone complied. He sat down heavily into his chair in front of a portable dry erase board and sighed.

"I'm Mr. Guter, for those of you who don't know me. And welcome to the first day of Hell." His voice was slightly raspy and tried, as if despite the short amount of time spent at the school, he was already very, very tired of the whole thing. Tagged with it was a sense of foreboding, almost a premonition: one could tell that he was a force to be reckoned with, and with the reverence the kids were giving him, most of them had. He smiled a toothy grin, which Sydney could tell was not natural for his façade. It disappeared quickly. "Get your instruments and I want everyone down on the field in five minutes! Squad leaders find your kids and get them in order. Go!" There was a mass surge as every person in the room gravitated towards one of the two doors: the one she had entered through or the door at the back of the room in the percussion section. Low brass and the drum line exited there to retrieve their instruments or extra essentials (i.e. drumsticks ). Vaughn said a few last words to Anne as he slid his harness on over his head. Anne gestured towards Sydney, then herself, and finally at the wall with the closets. Vaughn shook his head, and Syd assumed that Anne had asked him about his lunch plans as well. The latter shrugged and pointed towards the last percussionist to linger in the room, presumably on the instructions of Anne, and Vaughn followed him out the back door.

Smiling down at Sydney from her perch on the top tier, Anne gestured towards the same door. "Come on. I'll take you in the tech room. Grab your stuff; mine's already in there." Syd complied and began making her way through the empty chairs. The room looked a hell of a lot bigger now that it was empty; her movements echoed of the walls and high ceiling that was built for good acoustics. Through the door and down five steps Syd traveled and was deposited in a small corridor. She was peering into a room whose walls were lined with keyboards hooked up to new Apple computers. Anne had set up two stands and two chairs on wheels in the vacant centre of the room and was sitting with her piccolo to her lips, silently fingering the unseen music. She looked up as Syd entered and motioned for her to sit.

"So," Sydney stalled, playing with the latches to her piccolo case. "You're my teacher."

"Yep," Anne replied cheerfully. "Technically you shouldn't be getting this special treatment; all newbies have to learn instruments on their own time. But well, you're too overdressed for band camp, so I offered to stay in and teach you." Syd's eyes wandered over her own black peasant shirt and jeans before taking into account what Anne was wearing: a pair of khaki shorts and blue spaghetti strap shirt. "It's basically a rule that you don't wear pants to band camp; you'd fry if you were out on the field right now. Tomorrow go for something more summery if you don't want to die of heat stroke."

Despite a little voice in the back of her mind screaming, 'Information overload! Information overload! Syd nodded while fitting the pieces of her instrument together.

Anne placed her own in her lap and displayed her flip folder. "This is what is commonly known as a bitch, but Guter likes to call them lyres for the piccolo players. To everyone else they're flip folders. You strap it to your arm when you're in the stands during football games. I got you all the music and extra pages you could possibly need and you can put them in at home. Hey, where do you live?"

"Sugarville. On Grant Street," She added needlessly.

The former laughed. "You don't need to say what street, hon: if you live in Sugarville, you live within a mile of everyone. I live there, too, on Park Street down by the elementary school." They shared a smiled before Anne continued, "Okay, back to business. The show this year is Carmen. You know, the opera? There's four pieces that we play for the halftime shows. Also, you need to memorize the school song, national anthem, 'Battle Hymn of the Republic', and 'Children of Sanchez'. We play the last two for parades and when we march over to the field before games."

"That's a lot of music."

"Oh don't worry. Most people don't memorize all of it: the do just enough to get by the _solis_ and shit their way through the rest. Guter doesn't usually care as long as you stay on the correct foot, stay in line and the music is better than the rest of the conference's. They all suck." Anne shrugged again and picked up her piccolo. "Ready to try the fingerings?"

Sydney smiled. "Bring it on."

* * *

By lunch Sydney had all eight pieces of music memorized. (_'See, a photographic memory comes in handy for something.'_) Her fingerings were shaky, but Anne had never seen anyone progress so far in one morning. Needless to say, Syd was immensely pleased with herself as she strolled into room C-3 next door to eat lunch. Anne had told her that it was used as a Global Studies room during the year (whatever that was), and it was where they were supposed to eat lunch during band camp; they were not allowed to leave campus for any reason. Syd saw Anne, Katie, and four others that she did not know eating at a table near the west wall, smiled at them, then seated herself at a table in the opposite corner to wait for Weiss and Vaughn.

The latter was the first to take a seat next to the CIA agent, sliding into a cool metal chair with a sigh. "I think I lost five pounds in sweat out there. Where the hell were you?"

Syd smiled slyly as she uncapped her water bottle. "Inside, kicking major ass at my new instrument. Where's Weiss?"

Vaughn had been drinking a bottle of Gatorade and he almost spit out what he had in his mouth, remembering where he had seen his best friend last. "He's hitting on some freshman named Christine Williams. I thought we warned him against trying to rob the cradle."

"Well, apparently he didn't take to the idea."

"And apparently neither did she," Sydney murmured into her sandwich. Weiss had entered the room and started making his way towards them, a crimson handprint emblazoned upon his cheek. Vaughn stifled his laughter with his arm as his friend sat down across from the two of them. "So Weiss," She started, relishing her words more than her lunch. "Are ya having fun yet? Pick up any chicks young enough to be your kid?" Weiss mocked her as he extracted a grape from his bag and threw it in their direction. Syd caught it in her mouth and grinned triumphantly as she chewed on it.

The three sat in a comfortable silence for a time, eating and merely enjoying the others' presence. Finishing her pudding cup (_'Oh Lord, I'm back in first grade'_), she stared long and hard across the room at a table of obviously freshman boys. "Did you guys find anyone of note?"

Vaughn shook his head, crumpling up his own paper bag for disposal. "Nope. The drum line's clean. Although this Henry guy I can't quite figure him out. He _could_ be on something or he's just really, really weird."

"People say that about me," Weiss stated innocently, taking a swig of Syd's water, warranting a slap on the hand.

"I'm not gonna even touch that."

"Yeah, Weiss, that was way too easy."

"Shut up. Both of you. And by the way, Vaughn, that's my foot."

Apparently Vaughn had been attempting to play footsie with Syd but had in fact been flirting with his best friend instead. Sydney thought that she had blinked for a good solid minute: there was no possible way for a person's face to turn as red as Vaughn's in such a short amount of time. Trying her best to keep her tears of laughter to a minimum she turned back to Weiss and asked, "What about you? Take any names?" This sent the two of them into peels of muted laughter; the nearest table began giving them strange looks and scooting their chairs farther away. Oblivious to the meaning of what she had uttered Syd inquired, "What? Did I say something wrong? Oh God, it was the slang again, wasn't it? Okay, what does 'taking names' really mean in Teen Talk?"

"We've — got — to — get — you — an — Eminem — CD!" Weiss choked out between sobs of laughter. When they finally simmered down (and the nearest table returned to their original positions), Eric sighed contentedly. "I'll burn you a copy of the one I have when I get home tonight. I think it's hilarious, the stuff this guy says, but you Yeah, you need to study it like it's the frickin' Slang Bible." Sydney gave him a Look, reminding him without words to answer her question. "Despite the extremely eccentric nature of the people who play low brass instruments Nah, I don't think they do anything illegal, other than whip out a deck of cards or hack when Guter's not looking. They're really good at hiding the stuff, too. This one guy, Jacob Brown, hides cards in his 'fro. And Rick Cheer stuffs sacks into his Sousaphone. Walter Rahm — the 'boner with the goat-tee and sombrero? — has an ice pack under that monster of a hat. I swear, these guys are geniuses!"

Syd furrowed her brow in confusion. "Hold on. Hack? Sacks? Boner? Help me out, here!"

Eric heaved an exasperated sigh. "You're gonna need more than Eminem to catch you up on these kids' words. You're worse than him for cryin' out loud!" He jabbed his thumb across the table at Vaughn, who merely frowned heavily in response. "They play hackey sack: therefore they hack. That explains the 'sacks'. 'Boner is short for tromboner: a person who plays the trombone! Jeez, and they call you an expert in espionage." Eric shook his head sadly, causing both Syd and Vaughn to kick him in the shins simultaneously.

The female agent turned the tone of the conversation with the clearing of her throat. "Well _I've_ heard of some possible druggies." This piqued their interest and they subconsciously leaned forward, only to be pushed back seconds later by Syd's gaze alone. They would look suspicious if they leaned in like — well, a bunch of teenage gossips. (It had sounded better before she thought about it more deeply.) "Katie Goode, the girl I was talking to before we were dismissed, said that Olivia Tamme, Katie Walters, and Tamra Jenson have a tendency to be stoners. Olivia plays the flute and Tamra and Katie both play the clarinet, so I can keep tabs on them. Do you think we need tabs on them yet?"

"Not yet," Vaughn mused after a moment of thought. "We should run it by your dad first, see if these girls have criminal records or if it's just a rumour. I'll call him when I get home and ask for the green light. Plus, it's a little early to be assuming these _girls_ have done anything."

"Are you saying that girls can't be bad?"

"Did I say they couldn't?"

"Not in so many words."

"There you go."

"But you were _implying_ that they couldn't be bad."

"Syd!"

"Stop arguing with me on this. You know it's what you meant! Weiss, back me up on this."

"Not on your life, sweet cheeks." Weiss smiled sarcastically and looked at his watch. "Whoa! Tick tock, Mikey. You better go do what you have to do. And don't come within ten feet of me until you shower again; I don't want to be smelling like a sports bar any time soon."

She gave her boyfriend her patented Look of Confusion and he explained, "I gotta go outside for a smoke." At the look of horror on her face he continued, "Don't worry, it's fake. See? Nothing to lose sleep over." Vaughn knocked against his right leg producing a soft, hollow clanging noise. He smiled. "Can of smoke smell. Completely legal if a bit messy. Well, I'll see you guys later. _Au revoir_."

* * *

The afternoon was spent inside rehearsing the music as a full band, as Syd was told the tradition went. Surprisingly, she thought herself to bet better than all of the freshmen, most of the sophomores, and some of the juniors. The first-year band members were taken out periodically to be fitted for uniforms: navy blue painter's pants and a jacket whose style was a cross between the Navy's and a suit and was all too complicated for Syd's taste. (_'Who needs five buttons and a zipper to keep this thing on?'_) All in all, Sydney was more than happy to head home that day at three o'clock on the dot, even though she had not done any marching yet she was exhausted. Her bottom front teeth hurt and her lower lip was numb, both as a result of hours' worth of pressing her mouth upon the foreign metal embouchure. Throwing the instrument and lyre on the ledge, she consciously banished them from her thoughts until the next morning whereupon she would have to take them up again and _actually march_. The thought horrified her to no end.

After a quick dinner, she had a lengthy (four-hour-long) conversation with Vaughn and at nine o'clock finally succumbed to her exhaustion and slept until her alarm clock went off again the next morning

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Seven:** Out of Hell  
**Chapter Eight:** The First Day of School

Hope you enjoyed! Leave reviews, as always!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	7. Out of Hell

**Everything's the same…blah, blah, blah…**

**This Chapter:** Syd finally learns some slang and gets her first real challenge on the mission: being a friend. Also…Pool!Table!Spy!Sex?

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Good Day" Luce, "Just the Two of Us" by Will Smith, "Survivor" by Destiny's Child, "Fighter" by Christina Aguilera, "Miss Independent" by Kelly Clarkson

**Dedication:** Happy birthday to Shatz! Yay! The big 2-0! Party at her house! You guys bring all of your MV pics, maybe hire a MV look-alike stripper, and I'll bring my version of Pin the You-Know-What on the Nekked Michael Vartan.

**Author's Note:** More band geekiness…Enjoy thoroughly…

* * *

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter 7: Out of Hell**

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven — _Left_, right, _left_, right, _left_, right! Come on Jane! Get it right!" A shrill whistle blew from the direction of the stands; movement ceased while grumbling about the temperature bubbled up all around. Sophia Lake glared down the line of piccolos at Syd, who was scratching the back of her neck with her instrument. "Why the hell can't you stay on the right foot? It's not that hard! Just start with your left and stay in time! You don't even have to think: we're following the leader! God, I hate new people."

"Shut the fuck up, Sophia," A voice defended her from her left. Sydney looked down the curve and saw Anne sneering at the indignant sophomore. "You were just as bad last year, so I wouldn't be saying anything if I were you." As the whistle had not blown yet, Anne darted through the empty space and whispered, "When you go backwards get up on your toes and march that way. And roll your heels more; it'll help with your bouncing." As if to prove her point she glided to her spot in line and smiled back at Syd, who returned it wearily.

'_So much for tradition,'_ She thought begrudgingly. Since the band had done "better than expected" those first four days, the last was spent almost entirely outside, marching and playing through the first three numbers and putting together the last piece. They were currently polishing up the third selection ("Gypsy Dance," which featured the drum line, Vaughn was always quick to note) and had stopped three measly moves from its completion. Apparently a baritone saxophone player was having the same problem as Syd in regards to staying on the correct foot, and Mr. Guter spared no expense in berating him.

Sophia had been yelling at her all afternoon for missing a note here and there or occasionally denting a straight line. After an entire five-minute lecture about the amount of flats in the beginning of piece number three, Syd yearned to break her cover and deal her a nice swift uppercut to the jaw. The only things that kept Sydney sane were the other piccolos' not-so-concealed mutters about Sophia — and the stolen glances exchanged between her and Vaughn ever since their parting after lunch.

They were having a mouthed conversation across the field when the whistle blew, followed by rhythmic clapping and the "attention" command. Risking a serious talking-to from the band director, Vaughn continued throwing suggestive glances over his shoulder at Sydney, who blushed so profusely that her mind kept wandering from what she was doing. This caused Sophia to harp yet again. ("Jane! Keep in line! This move is a box not a bowl! Guide to Ed. You know, the giant with the _orange_ hair! He's, like, twenty feet tall: how can you miss him?" _"Shut up, Sophia!"_)

When they stopped for their third water break in thirty minutes (it was over a hundred degrees down on the field and add another ten if you were within fifteen feet of a Sousaphone; Syd had drastically underestimated Chicago's summer weather), another girl in her same squad came up to her at the water table. "So Are you and that other new kid ya know _together_?" Syd froze. Were they really that obvious? Their entire mission could be in jeopardy after it barely began! As she remembered, there were clearly defined clique lines, and no matter how intensely she and Vaughn wanted them to blur, it probably was not going to happen. So what could she say? "'Cause you guys would be a really cute couple. But the real hottie is that Greg guy. If I didn't already have a boyfriend, I'd be all over him in a minute." And with a quick wink the girl skipped off to a group of freshmen girls.

It was then that she saw Weiss guffawing from his patch of shade on the ground behind the east side of the bleachers. She stormed up to him and angrily smashed her paper cup on his forehead. "What the hell did you do to her, Eric? Bribe her?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Bribe her? Are you kidding me? I dared her! These kids aren't smart enough to ask for bribes yet. You should've seen the look on your face! It was priceless! A true Kodak moment!"

She turned to Vaughn, who was slumped against the metal stairs next to his harness and snare drum. "Are you just going to sit there and let him put our mission in danger for a laugh? This kind of behavior could get us killed!"

Vaughn looked up at her from under his eyebrows. "No, you screaming about our mission could get us killed." Her lips snapped shut, and she folded her arms across her chest. "And anyways, kids who like each other rarely talk face to face; they always go through channels. Her friend has a friend who's in the same math class as his friend's lab partner's next door neighbor. Somehow it works out in the end. I don't get it but Yeah, we're okay, Syd; there's nothing to worry about."

They shared a small smile while Weiss pretended to gag into an empty garbage can. She sat down next to her boyfriend, stole his drumsticks, and began pretending to beat on an imaginary drum. "So, about this band party tonight Are we going? I paid the five bucks, but does anyone really want to go?"

"Why the hell not?" Weiss broke in, towering over them with his arms folded. "It couldn't hurt. Plus, I _really_ want to go swimming. And Cheer said he could hook me up with that Megan chick I've been after all week."

Both of them groaned at their fellow agent, then redoubled it as a warning whistle sounded from the head drum major's podium on the sideline. "I'm going, too," Vaughn groaned as Sydney helped him to his feet, lugging his drum with him. "Party, pool, food: I'm so there. I just need to stop sweating or I might pass out."

On the way back out onto the field, Sydney plucked her piccolo from the edge of the track. "As long as I don't have to lug your grody ass back to your house, it's all good."

Vaughn blinked. "Grody? It's all good?"

She smiled slyly. "I've been studying my slang."

* * *

After getting lost four times, she finally pulled into a parking space in a side lot off Reed Keppler Park. Walking the gently sloping path to the designated pavilion, she could see the Prairie Oaks Aquatic Centre (more commonly known as the Glenfield Pool, which was why she got lost so many times), and although it was small it looked extremely inviting. She had been in her bikini top and mesh shorts all day in anticipation of the cool water. But what looked more inviting was Vaughn and the cheese pizza he was standing next to. He and Weiss were chatting animatedly with Anne and another female friend with darker skin. Approaching the four of them she asked, "Am I late? What did I miss?"

"_Tu as en retard_," Vaughn stated in French, a cross between a sneer and soft smile gracing his face. Syd stuck out her tongue at him and took up a plate offered by Eric.

Anne and her friend greeted the food-hunting Sydney. "Jane, this is Summer Assaf. She's a clarinet player, but we forgive her." She gave her friend a one-armed hug before grabbing a grape off of Syd's plate. "I was just telling Michael and Greg, here, that y'all are gonna sit with us; no ifs, ands, or buts about it. We've adopted y'all into our group and there's nothing you can do about it. Come on; I'll introduce you to everybody Or not Hey! Guys! Get your asses back here! Sorry, Mrs. Hall." Anne paused to smile sweetly at a parent manning the food table. "You gotta meet these people! They're cool this time, I swear !" As she ran off after five guys in swimming trunks and t-shirts, Summer led the three of them to a picnic table in a corner of the pavilion's unenclosed patio. There were five remaining students nursing cans of pop and lounging on the benches, cement, or the low stone wall. They all looked up expectantly and Syd had the urge to ditch her plate full of food. Summer introduced the band members amiably. "All right. We have Mike Holcomb, alto saxophonist." The only male raised his hand and waved once. "Then there's flute players Katie Goode—"

"Jane knows me, Sum."

"—Ruth Anders, and Dani Allen. Dani's a freshman, but she went to Anne's middle school, so she's cool. And Caty Wagner, our resident 'boner. Who's Anne chasing, guys?"

"The guys," Ruth Anders replied pointedly. She ran a hand through her punk cut, obviously dyed black hair, and clarified for the new-comers' benefit, "Trumpets John Motz, John Wakowski, Tobi Morrison, and Joe Hall. Oh, and Henry Rudolph, drummer at large. You might know him." She pointed to Vaughn. "I saw you with a snare. You're in the drum line?" Playing an imaginary drum, she peered at him questioningly.

Vaughn nodded warily, and a chorus of "I'm sorry"s were hurled at him. Syd quickly introduced the three, and they were urged to sit down. Weiss immediately took a seat next to the quiet Mike and tried to strike up a conversation. They had similar body types and, despite their opposite hair colours, could have practically been brothers. Vaughn and Syd sat in the space provided them in between Katie Goode and Caty Wagner. (Syd made sure that Katie Goode was seated next to her.) In between bites of pizza and sips of pop (Vaughn had stolen all her grapes), Syd answered all her new friends' questions about California.

"Do people really go surfing during their off hours?"

"Exactly how hot are all the guys?"

"How many people do you know have skin cancer?"

"Was your locker really outside?"

"Did you ever see any stars? How many?"

"Hel-lo! Back to the guys!"

Sydney tried to contain her laughter as Vaughn merely sat there, blinking stupidly and pretending not to understand a word that was being said. After Dani suggested that Syd start translating for the guy she complied in a most comical fashion: instead of rewording their conversation, she made inappropriate sexual remarks about Weiss, who chose that moment to join their chat and proceeded to throw dirty looks at the pair of them. After a particularly good dig about Eric being the next generation Mr. Robinson, Katie Goode asked them if they meant Mrs. Robinson. The pair subsequently learned that the former had been studying French for two years and had understood bits and pieces of their unrelated banter, but not enough to catch the gist of what they were really saying. Sydney was suddenly grateful that they had used underground slang in their tête-à-tête.

During a lull in the activity in which Dani went swimming with Caty Wagner and Mike and Weiss spun off to hack with a few juniors, Anne slogged up the path towards their table dragging behind her only one of the five guys she was chasing. Both of the students were soaked, suggesting that Anne had felt the need to chase them through the pool. Gripping his collar, she practically threw the taller male towards the table in exasperation. "This was the only one I could catch. The rest of 'em are hacking with Joe and Mike and Greg. Hey, did you know he was a good hack?" She had directed her question towards Sydney, who shook her head and shrugged her shoulders simultaneously. "Well, he is: he practically just killed it in Joe's face! It was pretty damn crunk."

"'Crunk'?" Katie Goode queried incredulously. "That was _so_ last millennium. At least, in Illinois." She gave a sideways glance at Syd.

'Make a note to cross that off your slang list, Syd '

Anne dug out two Sprites from a cooler, tossed one to the guy she had captured, and collapsed on the bench next to Vaughn. "This is Henry, Jane and Michael. Hen, these are the new kids I was _trying_ to tell you about."

Henry nodded shortly to Vaughn; according to him, the drummer was the only member of the line who had said more than two words to him over the entire duration of band camp. Upon inspecting Sydney, he bobbed his head slowly as if to say that she passed his standards. He was subsequently slapped by his three girl friends. Looking past Vaughn and Syd, Anne addressed Katie Goode. "Have you heard from Andrew yet? I overheard Guter telling the mellophones that he wouldn't be coming back this year. Did he quit band?"

Katie began digging in her over-sized purse (an exact opposite from the eighth grader's in California) for something. Finally extracting a sparkly pink cell phone, she slid it across the table to her friend. "Nope. Nothing. But you can call him; speed dial number six."

Anne took it and walked away from the group as Syd gave Vaughn a triumphant smile. When Summer asked what was up she answered calmly, "Oh, we just had a little bet about Midwesterners and cell phones. I won; I thought that they'd be just as common here as anywhere else. _J'ai gagné_." He frowned playfully in response. Sydney eyed Anne, whose head was bent and ear plugged. "Who's Andrew?"

All of the natives smiled knowingly at each other but Summer replied. "Those two have been joined at the hip our entire high school careers. And as far as we know, they were the same during middle school. They're both in band, too; they were the only Sugarville graduates to join up in our freshman year. Andrew plays practically everything: all types of clarinets, percussion, saxophone, mellophone, piano. I wouldn't be surprised if he sings, too " She trailed off.

Anne rejoined them yet again, noticeably more distraught than before. Her breathing was uneven; eyes slightly wider than they were previously; hands shook and legs looked dangerously unsteady. She handed the phone back to her friend and smiled; it failed to reach her eyes. "He's in California living with his dad. He's not coming back. Looks like we traded one for the other." She picked up her pop can again but did not take a drink; instead she just wiped off the condensation that had congealed on the outside. She remained standing.

Katie and Summer looked aghast, and Syd could tell that they were not expecting this at all. "What?" Katie cried, staring at her friend in disbelief, the phone forgotten in her hand. "Isn't that illegal? Doesn't his grandma still have custody over him? What about his mom and Jonathan? They moved up here to be closer to him! What the hell was he thinking! Is his grandma gonna go and get him back or what?"

Syd could tell that it was taking most of the girl's strength just to keep up a semblance of normalcy; let alone remain standing. "I don't know, Ash. All I know is what his grandma told me: he's living in California with his dad and he's not coming back." She paused for a second as she swallowed hard. "Um, I'm gonna see if Dani needs a ride home." Anne walked off down the path in the direction of the rest of the park.

The group was stunned into silence; Sydney felt like she and Vaughn were intruding on a moment that they should not have been. They did not belong there. The sounds of male laughing and talking floated up along the path down which Anne had just disappeared, and Weiss, Mike, and what Syd assumed were the rest of "the guys" strolled along. A short, squat male — who looked like a shorter version of Eric — directed a question towards the native students. "What's with Anne? Are the mustard and ketchup fighting again?" The guys guffawed and Weiss chuckled uncomfortably, not really knowing what he was laughing at.

Katie looked about ready to throw a fit. "Don't say that, Joe! That's mean! You know she was just trying to be funny that time!"

"Yeah, trying is the key word, there."

"Shut up! You don't know what you're talking about, Joe."

Sydney picked that time to follow Anne. Squeezing Vaughn's arm, she gave him a pointed look and made to get up, but Summer placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't," She said shortly. "Anne just needs to be alone for a while."

"No one should be alone when they're sad." Hoping her age did not show in her words of wisdom, she stalked down the path until she was out of their line of sight; from there she began running, quickly spotting the girl on a hill by another nearby pavilion, slumped on the ground at the base of a tall oak. She was hugging her knees with her chin resting on top; even from a distance Sydney could tell that she was having a good cry.

As Syd approached, Anne released her knees and swiped at her eyes, trying to pretend that she had not been sobbing. "Hey," She greeted, her voice surprisingly strong. "I forgot that I didn't ask them where Dani was. So I figured—" Stopping herself mid-sentence, she shook her head dismissively. "Wow. That was a really lame lie. I didn't think I'd need one, though; they never come after me anymore; I've bitched them out way too many times. They told you to stay away, didn't they?" Anne questioned, stubbornly rubbing her eyes in an attempt to stem the flow of her tears. Syd could only nod. "Yeah, that's what I thought." She paused for a second as she stood, looking out over the pool and the park without really seeing them. Not turning her gaze she murmured, "Thanks for coming. You have no idea how much it means to me."

Sydney had the sudden vision of herself as a teenager, curled up on her bed alone in her room on the anniversary of her mother's 'death'. Her father was working late again and her nanny had been dismissed long ago on the premise that "Sydney could survive on her own". She remembered how much she just wanted someone to talk at, someone to sit with her in the dark room and comfort her with their presence. Nowadays Sydney had Vaughn, but this girl this girl obviously had no one.

Sitting down on a tree root, Syd folded her legs beneath her and looked up expectantly. Anne blinked at her, startled. "You're actually going to stay?" When Syd nodded matter-of-factly, Anne also sank to the ground, still slightly bewildered.

"Thirteen years," She whispered, her voice almost drowned out by the peels of laughter wafting up from the pool. "We were best friends for thirteen years, over two thirds of our lives. And he just leaves. No note, no letter, no call. No warning. I had to hear it from _his grandmother_, damn it! I thought I deserved better than that from him. I'm not crazy for wanting that, right?

"Why did he do this? I thought he liked it here; at least, he never said he didn't like it. His mom moved up here with his half brother just to be nearer to him. His dad's a complete sleaze ball: I met him for the first and only time when I was a sophomore and he tried to hit on me. Was it me? Did I drive him away? 'Cause whatever it was that bothered him, I would've stopped it right away if it meant that he would have stayed here.

"Oh, my God," Anne cried quietly, a look of realization dawning on her features. "We were supposed to go to the prom together this year. He promised me. What am I gonna do without him?" Sydney recognized the rhetorical question as the end of her rant; she had said the same exact words more times than she could count after she had been separated from Vaughn in Taipei. Anne began quietly sobbing into her hands. The former slung an arm around the latter's shoulders and supported her against her own shoulder, feeding her silent strength.

They were so deep in thought that they failed to notice Vaughn walking up the path until he was standing directly in front of them. He held up three towels and pointed at the pool in front of them, asking without words if they would like to join him for a dip. Syd turned to Anne and inquired quietly, "Want to come with us? I bet the water's great, especially after the hell we went through all week."

Anne shook her head shyly. "I-I don't go swimming. I don't really look good in a suit and yeah, I guess that's my only reason. I'm not a pretty sight." She laughed shortly, but it was half-hearted and edged with hurt.

The other female smiled as she stood and offered a hand to the second. "What's appearances between friends?" Anne gave in. Smiling gratefully, she accepted the help to her feet and a towel from Vaughn, and all three of them headed towards the pool.

* * *

"So, what exactly are we supposed to be getting out of all these?" Sydney sifted through yet another pile of movie jackets, glaring at them in disgust. "'10 Things I Hate About You'; 'American Pie'; 'Never Been Kissed'; 'Crazy/Beautiful'; 'Not Another Teen Movie' What's the point of watching all of these?"

Weiss sighed from the bar where he was grabbing two beers and a bottled water from the refrigerator. "I just thought that we all could use a reminder about how high school works, especially you two. Sheesh. Can't you keep your hands off each other for two minutes? Even now!" Syd and Vaughn unlaced their fingers and blushed profusely. "Come on, guys. It's bad enough that you—" He pointed his beer at Vaughn "—sneak over to her house in the hopes of possibly getting laid. But then hiding in her closet when Jack comes to call ! You, my friend, have balls of steel that will one day be cracked in the vice of life. Or Jack Bristow. Mr. Vaughn does have balls, right Syd?"

She did not dignify him with an answer. Weiss strolled over to the couch where the couple was sitting and wedged his bottom in between them, much to their displeasure. It was the day before the First Day of School. (Syd had decided that anything to do with an academic landmark deserved capital letters.) The three agents had gathered at Weiss's house in order to do "research" or his cheap imitation thereof. Teen movies, books, and magazines littered the floor of the nicely finished and furnished basement, making walking a veritable hazard to one's health.

Eric handed them their respective drinks, settled back in his seat and asked, "So, what _are_ we watching?"

Vaughn uncapped his water bottle and threw the top on the coffee table. "'Never Been Kissed.' According to the box, the main character is doing something like we are. This woman is younger than all of us and just look at the hard time she's having! If the cliques at Glenfield are that pronounced, we're dead in the water."

Syd assumed that he was talking about any chance of a relationship between Jane and Michael, and silently agreed. Then the scene changed and she raised an eyebrow in interest. "_Damn_, that teacher is hot! I wouldn't mind having _him_ tutor me privately, if you know what I'm sayin'." She began laughing at her own absurdity, and the two males just raised their eyebrows incredulously.

Now completely ignoring the movie, she took a swig of her beer and turned to them asking in all seriousness, "What are you going to wear tomorrow?"

"Oh you know me: nothing at all," Weiss answered, mirroring her tone. "Figured I'd make a splash the first day and see where it goes from there."

"You're an idiot, you know that right?"

"Yeah. So? We've established that. Move on."

"So you'll fit right in with them." She pointed to a group of jocks on the screen.

"That's _if_ they're like they are in the movies."

"Oh, they will be. Just for you, they will be."

"Okay Syd, you're done now. Relieve some of that energy, why don't you? Go screw Vaughn or something."

"I might just take you up on that offer. Come on, Vaughn, that pool table looks like it hasn't seem some action for a while."

"I was kidding, guys! Ha, ha! Funny joke! Oh, gross. Put that back on, Mike. All right, that's it. I'm leaving. Call me when you're done so I can torch the thing."

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Eight:** The First Day of School  
**Chapter Nine:** Not-So-New Faces

Hope y'all enjoyed the chapter. As always, constructive criticism is welcome!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	8. The First Day of School

**Yeah, you know the drill…**

**This Chapter:** Um, duh! The first day of school! Angry!Weiss and Smiling!Jack make appearances…I know, the world is a scary place!

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Get the Party Started" by P!nk, "We Will Rock You" by Queen, "Here We Go" by 'N Sync, and "Too Much Food" by Jason Mraz

**Author's Note:** At end.

* * *

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter 8: The First Day of School**

"Syd? Syd, baby, we gotta get up. It's five thirty."

"Just five more minutes, Vaughn. I'm so tired. Just five more "

"Fine. Then I get the shower first. And I'll deny you the pleasure of accompanying me."

"What? I'm up, I'm up." Sydney sat up, the covers pooling around her waist. The overhead light switched on and she groaned loudly, clapping her hands over her eyes and rubbing them in an attempt to banish sleep. A robe smothered her head, and she quickly slid the warm material over her bare skin. Tying the belt around her waist she paused for a moment, gazing across the room at Vaughn, who was rooting around in the backpack he had brought with him the night before. "How the hell are we going to stay awake today?" Something he said finally sunk in. "Five thirty? Why are we up this early? School doesn't start 'til seven fifty-five!"

Looking up, he offered her a lopsided grin as she yawned loudly. "Tired much?"

"You made me this way."

"Damn straight."

"Answer the question, Vaughn. Why did you get me out of bed at this ungodly hour when we were up half the night—"

"Do you want to actually get a good parking spot or not?"

Syd moaned as she fell back upon the bed, her sore muscles screaming for her to climb back under the covers for just five more minutes of sleep. "I give up. Do I?" He laughed sarcastically and threw her a pair of jeans that were hanging in the closet. She caught them deftly and followed him down the hall to the bathroom. Before she entered she remembered something, and threw her jeans back at his bewildered face. "You dumb ass! There are two bathrooms!"

"I know. But would you have gotten out of bed if you remembered that piece of information?"

"Hell no."

"There you go."

"May you slip and fall during your shower, Mr. Vaughn."

"Gladly, if you're in there to fall on top of."

"That was easily the lamest pick-up line _ever_. Thank God you look halfway decent or I would be ashamed to say I know you." Coming up behind her, he unknotted the belt and slipped the robe from her shoulders, leaving butterfly kisses in its wake. "Then again, that was a very enticing offer. Consider yourself redeemed."

Twenty minutes later, the couple had "showered" without much actual cleaning and Vaughn was bustling around in the kitchen readying breakfast while Syd put the last touches on her make-up. After checking her appearance in the mirror one last time, she practically skipped into the kitchen and collapsed onto a chair at the table. The sun was up and twinkling at her through the tall boughs of the trees in the forest. She smiled as she thought of how utterly _nice_ this felt: waking up next to Vaughn, sharing their morning routines, eating a home cooked meal together, residing in a suburban home in a quiet, suburban town. Now all she had to do was substitute 'work' for 'school', construct a picket fence, and plant a vegetable garden and she would achieve her version of the American dream. To busy her hands, she began checking her purse for the zillionth time. Despite her father's misgivings, she insisted that she do some reconnaissance on their first day. In a pocket of one of her suitcases she discovered a familiar lipstick case with three cameras inside. Along with that she tucked away about five tiny mint-sized cameras into a hidden compartment in her purse. All three "students" had opted to go backpack-free.

"What do you think Weiss will say when he sees his pool table this morning?"

"Oh God!" She laughed blithely. "Our presents! Hmm, something along the lines of 'they are so dead' and 'I need to get them back,' which means we probably need to start watching our backs. Do you think he appreciated our chalk drawings of the human anatomy?"

"Undoubtedly enough to frame them."

Suddenly Sydney picked up on the faint smell of fumes and the extremely sensitive smoke detector began blaring from the hallway. Jumping up in alarm, she was greeted with a vision of Vaughn savagely beating a burning towel on the counter in an attempt to quell the flames. In the process he had set the pan of eggs he had been cooking on fire as well. She dashed over to the sink, turned on the faucet, tugged out the hose, and shot at the flaming towel, catching it in mid-air. The cold water neutralized the heat and hissed over the screaming of the detector. She handed the hose off to Vaughn to deal with the burning pan.

After rushing to silence the alarm, Sydney reappeared in the kitchen with a sigh. She began digging in the pantry and extracted a cardboard box. "Looks like it's cereal bars for breakfast again. We have a bad track record when it comes to food."

"You know, one of us really needs to learn how to cook."

"I can cook!"

"Macaroni and cheese!"

"Yeah, so?"

"_From a box!"_

"SO?"

"Syd, we can't live off of mac and cheese."

"Says you."

Just then Vaughn's watch beeped; he told her he had set it for the time that they had to leave.

It was six fifteen.

_In the morning._

'_How the hell do these kids do it every day for an entire nine months?'_ She asked herself as they both exited the house and hurried to their respective cars. Giving him a long, lasting look over the top of her vehicle, they both sped off towards the high school.

* * *

They had worked out a system before the first day. Syd and Vaughn would get to talk before second hour. After the hour ended she and Weiss would walk to Lincoln and their third hour language classes. Before four/five, Vaughn would meet Syd at the pool and walk with her to American History; they would all meet up again before Chemistry ninth hour at the junction of the hallway from Entrance B and the corridor leading from Commons. That would be the last time they could see each other before the end of the day.

Now, if Sydney could only find her head, she would be all set.

She flashed her ID to the security guard stationed at Entrance A and began traveling the route to her third floor locker. Striding down the hallway, the first words she heard spoken by a high schooler in his natural environment was: "Goddamn, mother-fucker! Slap that bitch up! Knock the piss outta the whore!" Taking a stunned peek at the speaker, she saw with relief that the boy was talking to his video game-playing friend.

When she reached her locker, both Vaughn and Weiss were seated there and waiting expectantly. Syd ignored them as she unloaded the notebooks and binders she was carrying into the grey interior. Weiss blinked up at her. "What, no thank you to your welcoming committee?"

Syd sighed heavily as she slammed the door shut, spun the lock, and stared down at the two. "Well, if he was naked," She pointed to Vaughn, "you weren't here, and we were back home in bed _then_ I'd say that you were a welcoming committee, and you might deserve retribution." She smiled widely before sliding down in between them. "Oh, and thank you for not coming naked today. Now I won't have to gauge out my eyes with my bare hands."

"Oh don't worry," Eric assured her, digging a clod of dirt from under his thumbnail. "I have something _huge_ planned for later. It's a varsity football thing." Ever since he learned he had made the varsity squad, he would not let them forget it; but she had pondered this phenomenon and had come to the conclusion that it was only because he was one of the largest blockers they had to choose from.

"Shouldn't you guys be somewhere else?" She asked suddenly, swiveling her head like an owl to look at both of them.

Weiss continued to pick at his fingernails. "Do you want to get rid of us or something?"

She contemplated that for a moment. "No. It's just Our covers, guys! Am I the only one who still remembers the mission?" Lowering her voice she continued, "I want to catch these guys. And I don't want to fail because we were having too much fun at parties or pep rallies."

"Don't get your panties in a twist. We'll be fine; we know what we're doing. We're not rookies, you know."

"Shouldn't you be dunking some poor geek's head in a toilet somewhere?"

"Shouldn't you be in a library with your nose in a book?"

"Children, children!" Vaughn whispered harshly. A teacher had just exited his classroom and was heading down the hall. He waited until he had turned the corner before he continued. "Syd's right. We probably shouldn't be seen exclusively with each other, at least for the first day. But our plan's still on for in between classes," He added upon seeing Syd's impending objection. "I'll still meet you before band, Syd. But for now, I think I'm gonna wander the halls and see if there's anything remotely suspicious goin' on. And Eric, I think you should go and hang out with all of your little football buddies down in Senior Hall. Who knows? You might just see something."

Syd impatiently raised her hand and her boyfriend frowned at her. "What do I do, Professor Vaughn? Who do I 'hang' with?"

He answered as if it was utterly obvious. "Anne!" With that he stood, hiked up his baggy jeans, and started towards the stairwell.

She cleared her throat pointedly and pointed to his rear end. "Um, pants hon?" She smiled widely as he growled, tugging down his jeans so that more than half of his boxer-clad backside protruded over the waistband before continuing down the stairs.

Weiss subsequently left as well, bidding her an edged good-bye until the end of second hour. Syd elected to just stay where she was instead of wander the halls like a lowly freshman. (Everyone and everything at this school seemed to be compared to freshmen and rated accordingly. If she had not been at the mercy of this social hierarchy, she would have laughed uncontrollably.)

So as soon as the bell rang to signal the six-minute passing period between the optional zero hour and the official beginning of the day, she extracted a single notebook from her locker and trudged down the stairs to the second floor. Picking her way through the massive crowd of multi-cultural teens that awaited her, she quickly found her first period English room. Entering through the door, Syd was surprised to see that many of the seats at the tables were already filled — despite the fact that the two-minute warning bell had yet to sound. She thought that the average arrival time was _after_ the bell. The eight beeps of the two-minute warning sounded throughout the room and Syd looked around anxiously for a place to sit.

Finally deciding, she collapsed into a seat near the front of the room next to a short girl with her hair dyed a vibrant red; it almost reminded Sydney of her hair when she first appeared at the door of the CIA. As the other seats around the table filled in, Syd tapped the girl on her shoulder to introduce herself. "Hi, I'm Jane—"

"Oh hey Jane! What's up? I haven't seen you since band!"

It was Anne. And this was _definitely_ not the same Anne that she saw less than three weeks ago. Not only physically, but her aura was different as well: truly excited. To fill the gap in their conversation Syd squeaked out, "Hair?"

Anne ran a hand through her locks self-consciously. "Don't you just love it? Earlier in the summer I tried streaking it this colour, and it just looked so tight that I decided to do my whole head. Oh, don't worry, I do this every year; everyone's used to it. Last year my tips were blue, the year before forest green, and freshman year I had orange hair. I was going through my _Anne of Green Gables_ phase."

This girl was an utter enigma.

There was a prolonged beep and the door was closed by a young male in his late twenties with blonde hair and thoughtful blue eyes. He was wearing a grey t-shirt and hemp slacks. _'This cannot possibly be my teacher,'_ Syd told herself, physically restraining her jaw from dropping by propping her head on her hand. _'He's a kid! He looks younger than I do! And cute, too, but only in that baby-faced sort of way.'_

He strolled down the aisle between the four sets of tables, turned on his heels, and clapped once. "Well, it's nice to see so many familiar faces this year." Two boys hooted loudly from the back of the classroom.

Anne leaned over and whispered, "Everyone loves Mr. Tressaut; he's the coolest teacher EVER! He's twenty-seven, too! Isn't he so cute?"

She did not know where to begin with how wrong her friend's comment was, so she just dropped it all together and went after a new angle of thought. _'Twenty-seven! I'm older than he is! Oh, this kid is going to get his head handed to him__by me. That is, if he thinks he can teach me _anything_ about the English language or literature.'_

The man smiled and fished out a neat stack of papers from a table full of chaotic discombobulation. "This is my first time teaching AP English 4—"

'_Oh great. Even better.'_

"—But I know that you people will make it easy for me. Yes, Vicky?"

A girl at the table next to them had risen her hand and was now trying in vain to suppress girly giggles. "Mr. Tressaut, are we gonna have more debates again this year?"

He smiled genuinely and winked. "You betcha."

The girl and a group of her friends began a loud round of rapid, high-pitched tittering. _'Apparently Anne isn't the only one who thinks he's cute. Now I know why everyone was here before the bell.'_ The teacher began passing out copies of the course outline at their table and his eyes landed upon Sydney. Nodding towards her he addressed her companion. "Anne, who's your friend?"

Sitting up a little straighter she answer, "Mr. Tressaut, this is Jane Porter. She's from California. She's in the band, too."

"Oh." He smiled knowingly as if that one sentence explained everything. Shifting his papers, he stuck out his hand, and she shook it without hesitation. "Glad to have you in class, Jane Porter."

Sydney merely nodded and smiled, retracting her hand. There was something about him, something about the way he carried himself It made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end like when she was on a field op and there were ten security guards just around the next corner. Digging into her purse, Syd removed both a mint and her faux lipstick, tossing the former towards the front of the room and shooting a camera from the lipstick applicator onto his desk from under the table. Reminding herself to tell the others of what she had done, she turned her attention back to the class, flipping open her notebook and uncapping a pen in preparation for taking notes.

Soon enough the bell rang, and Anne and Sydney made their way about fifty feet down the hall to the music department, using the proper entrance as opposed to band camp where they used the less-frequented back way. Asking her friend to get her stuff and save her a seat, Syd lingered outside the double metal doors for Vaughn. She soon saw his head bobbing towards her over the crowd and smiled gladly. But her grin slowly faded as she saw that his patented Pug puppy wrinkles were imprinted on his forehead and he was muttering to himself in French. She did not dare ask him anything in English until he greeted her with the traditional cheek kisses and a giant bear hug. "Bad class?"

"Babel is a babbling idiot, no pun intended," He whispered into her ear. "He spent an entire thirty minutes trying to go over just the first page of his three-sheet rubric. Needless to say, we didn't get through he whole thing." Pausing for a moment, he inhaled sharply. "Do you have any idea how much I want to take you here and now?"

"You're tellin' me."

Before pulling away, he planted a small kiss on her pulse and laid her hair back over her neck. He held the door for a smiling Sydney as they entered the music hallway to the sound of the warning bell. Weiss nodded to them from the doorway of the chorus room, obviously waiting for Vaughn so that they could go to the back rooms and get their instruments together. Syd continued on to the band room and the seat Anne had saved for her.

Band was business as usual, the "introductions" having been dealt with on the first day of camp. Between pieces, Anne gave her directions on where to meet her for lunch. Apparently they were the only two people that they knew that had lunch sixth hour.

After second period, Weiss and Sydney began the long trek towards Lincoln school and their foreign language classes. He was still slightly miffed at her for suggesting that he truly was a jock at heart. It strained their conversation slightly despite her profuse apologies. She supposed that coming upon a group of football players did not help matters much, either.

Her French class was nothing special, except that she was in a class that completely comprised of freshmen. She projected that Vaughn would feel the same moronic sensation when he stepped into his tenth hour French 1 class. She and Weiss met her boyfriend just outside the doorway to the Lincoln ramp and next to the pool. They strolled together to the Commons hallway where Eric split off to go the Bishop Gym for P.E. class orientation.

Vaughn and Sydney conversed freely in fluent French as they went down the hallway towards Entrance C, finally turning left down the last corridor perpendicular to it. Before parting with her until before ninth hour, he risked a sentence of accented English and a small kiss on her middle knuckle. "I will miss you, Jane." She blushed and bid him good-bye before entering her American History classroom.

* * *

"How was your first day so far?" Anne and Sydney were by themselves at a round lunch table in Commons. Both had brought bag lunches and were munching and chatting amiably.

Syd considered. "Well, my French teacher is slightly mental, and my American History teacher can't seem to stand still for more than five seconds, but other than that just peachy."

"Who's your French teacher?"

"Madame Cambodie. Why?"

"Oh God!" Anne laughed, clapping a hand over her mouth in order to keep from spitting. "I had her freshman year. She's a complete nutcase! And with your knowledge of the language ! Well, let's just say I pity you: you'll be teaching the class and carrying on conversations with her in no time. I wonder if she'll break out her 'new boots' again this year. New!" She scoffed more to herself than Syd. "Maybe they were new in 1982."

The CIA agent had to swallow quickly to avoid choking. "So how's your day been?"

Anne rolled her eyes. "Oh, I just _love_ my third hour Calc BC class. Borkowski scares the freakin' crap outta me! He's so old and so big kinda like Guter, although Guter's more prone to sitting on you. Mr. B will just make you feel stupid beyond belief."

"Hey, I think Greg is taking Calc BC. Maybe you could tutor him. I mean, he doesn't seem like the sharpest tool in the shed." Syd silently sniggered at her double entendre.

Her friend nodded mutely, taking a drink from her Sprite bottle. Still holding it to her lips she inquired, "So, are you and Michael together yet?"

This time Syd did choke on her food; she had to cough several times in order to clear her airway. "Excuse me?"

Again, she rolled her eyes. "Oh, come on! Don't even _try_ to deny that you like the guy! Rumors have started flying around the band. Of course, I've been fervently shooting them down — and threatening anyone who looked like they were going to repeat it. But I know y'all are gonna get together sometime."

"No we won't."

"I give it a week."

"But we can't! Don't you know that he's a stoner? He got held back at his school in France. I even heard that he's been _arrested_."

Anne still looked unfazed. "So? You _heard_ those things; doesn't mean it's true. And even if it is, that doesn't mean shit. Here's a little helpful hint," She confided, scooting to the edge of her chair and motioning for Syd to do the same. "All the talk you hear about cliques Well, it's bullshit. Pure and utter bullshit. People associate with whoever they want, whenever they want, wherever they want. Class, money, extra curriculars doesn't count for anything here.

"Here's an example: Katie Goode dated a senior football player when we were freshmen. Now, if there's anyone who you wouldn't think would date a jock, it's her. But it just goes to show you how much people _don't care_ about that stuff. Cheerleaders go stag, jocks date geeks, and stoners Well, stoners usually date stoners, but if y'all like each other, more power to ya." She patted her friend's hand before returning to her lunch.

Syd could only stare.

They were officially free to date.

* * *

Anne and Syd continued on to their shared seven/eight class: strength training. When they met their extremely loud female teacher, Anne suddenly became very sullen and quiet; Syd made another mental note on her mental notepad, which was becoming very full. The two also discovered that they shared Chemistry classes (giving Syd a moment of panic) but declined walking together; Anne wanted to go with Henry and someone named Keith.

"Plus," She added with a wink, "you can spend more time with Michael!" With that, she skipped towards her gym locker.

Syd met Vaughn and Weiss in the junction of the two hallways as planned. Eric gave her a distasteful look as she approached them in the rapidly filling hallway, still holding his grudge from that morning. Vaughn elbowed him in the ribs before turning to the female agent and reached for her hand, kissing the top before letting it drop. "_Salut_, Jane. We leave now?"

His accent was melting her insides, but she tried to ignore her need for him as the three of them began pushing their way through the mass of humanity towards a staircase. "So, Greg, how has your day been so far?"

He grunted loudly and his friend elbowed him yet again. Rubbing his side he finally replied, "It's been fine so far. There. Are you happy now?" He directed his question to Vaughn, who frowned deeply and threatened with his elbow again.

"Oh, get over yourself, Greg," Syd sighed, climbing the stairs and entering Senior Hall. "You know I know that you're better than sticking some math geek's head in a toilet somewhere. Now drop it." He was still pouting, so she gave him a small peck on his cheek. The spot that she had touched immediately turned a bright red as the blush crept over his features.

"That's better. Now, did you guys know that Anne's in our Chem class?" Her tone was nonchalant, but the men could tell that there was something else that she was trying to convey. Syd gazed at them poignantly as they turned down a hallway. "I wonder if we'll all get along with the teacher?"

"Shit," Eric whispered, his face losing the extra colour and then some. "What if she notices something? What if she can see the relationship between you and Jack?" The other agents elbowed him at the same time and he moaned in pain. "What? I'm whispering!"

"Look," Vaughn said, mirroring Weiss's volume and dropping his accent, "we obviously can't discuss this now. Syd, somehow get your dad the message to meet at the safe house in Geneva for a meeting. We're gonna need to set up a closer meeting place than that, though—"

"I don't think it's that serious, Vaughn," She countered, going back on her original opinion. "We just have to be careful with how we act and communicate with him. Just up the alert level a little. Although, I wouldn't argue with a closer meeting place; isn't Geneva about an hour away? I mean, we do have homework and stuff." _'Oh Lord, I really AM a teenager now__'_

They both peered at her warily but agreed in the end. Pulling open the heavy door as the warning bell sounded, the three undercover agents filed into the almost empty room and found a lab table in the back that was unoccupied. Jack was not there yet. Syd was anxious to see what kind of teacher he would be; she could only imagine walking down the hall and hearing her classmates complaining about "Dull Tull". Just thinking about the probable nickname sent her into a fit of giggles, causing Weiss and Vaughn to glare at her and roll their eyes; they were thinking the same thing.

The rest of the class filed into the windowless room in the last few seconds before the final bell beeped. They were quickly followed by a tall, greying man with sharp black eyes dressed in beige corduroys, a pressed dress shirt, and a matching beige sweater vest. _A sweater vest; Jack was wearing a sweater vest._ It was all any of them could do _not_ to burst out laughing and start rolling on the floor while clutching their stomachs.

He took his place at the front of the room and leaned against the large immobile desk with his hands folded in front of him and ankles crossed. And then Jack Bristow smiled; he _smiled_. Sydney just about fell off her chair in shock; the only thing keeping her upright was her boyfriend's hand slowly inching up her thigh until Weiss leaned over, slapped his friend's arm, and nodded sharply towards Jack.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the wonderful world of AP Chemistry!" He gestured grandly to the room despite the slight note of sarcasm. Everyone pick up on the latter and snickered; he had already won them over with one sentence.

Most of the remainder of the class hour was spent in a state of bewilderment. The senior agent allowed them to choose their own seats, so naturally the three younger agents stayed together with Weiss on the left in the aisle seat, Syd in the middle, and Vaughn on the right. Anne and two guys that Syd didn't recognize sat at the table directly in front of them. She had given the female another wink before sliding into her seat, and Syd had to swear to both agents that she had no idea what the girl was doing.

Ninth hour ended without incident; the three parted ways in the hallway, and Sydney continued down the stairs at the end of the corridor to the first floor and her math classroom. Yet again she was astonished to find that her Pre Calc teacher was the same ripe-old age of twenty-eight. But by that time she honestly had no care. All she wanted to do was go home, lie down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, and numb her brain cells on pointless sitcoms with annoying laugh tracks. The only things that any of her teachers had done that day were go over their syllabi and play variations on the same getting to know each other game. After two periods it was cute, three was pushing it, and after that everything anyone did was half-assed. Syd could tell it was the same deal with the rest of the students: after all, they had been through the same song and dance for four years, now.

Promising to call Vaughn later that night, Sydney left her locker, drove home, crashed on the couch, and promptly fell asleep.

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Nine:** Not-Really-New Faces  
**Chapter Ten:** Activities Night

Happy Reader Appreciation Day everyone! Hope you enjoyed this! Please leave feedback/reviews! I love constructive criticism, by the way; as of the 3rd, I am beta-less. Thanks in advance to all that review! I love you guys so much!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	9. Not So New Faces

**Your suspicions are confirmed: everything's the same!**

**Chapter Genre:** (new feature!) Angst with a bit o' fluff at the end.

**This Chapter:** Suspicious!Syd, Druggie!Vaughn, and some not-so-new faces

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "What It's Like" by Everlast, "So Far Away" by Staind, "One Week" by Barenaked Ladies, and "Favorite" by Liz Phair

**Author's Note:** More than a week, twenty pages written, nine pages typed, a pen, and ten sore fingers later: here ya go.

* * *

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Nine: Not-So-New Faces (One Week)**

School started on August 25, and by the 29th Sydney was sick and tired of it. Despite the lack of homework on the first day, it appeared in full force on the second; she had something to do in almost every class. She sarcastically thanked the higher-ups at the CIA who designed her schedule as she cracked open her notebook to write a quick essay about what she did that summer. (_'Hmm. Took down SD-6, a faction dealing in arms and espionage, was able to finally profess my feelings for my former handler, changed my identity, moved halfway across the country__oh, and I think I went swimming once or twice.'_) Apparently English teachers had not lost their touch when thinking up essay assignments.

Vaughn had offered to accompany her home both that Monday and Tuesday, but Wednesday he merely left Syd at her locker with a lasting look and a nod. She was especially suspicious when he blew her off during their weekly after school band practice on Thursday night. Broaching the subject to Weiss, he told her to think nothing of it, that his friend was not stupid or desperate enough to be "digging" any of the high school girls he recently became acquainted with. Somehow Weiss's words were little comfort.

So it was a very irritable Syd who stormed into the school that first Friday morning of the school year. The four agents had agreed that their after school "tutoring sessions" would occur on Fridays: if the three younger agents had homework, it could be completed in the following two days; people cleared out of the school the fastest on the last day before the weekend (the hallways were deserted by three fifteen); Weiss had no football practice on Fridays. She was not even looking forward to that as she picked up her necessities for first period at her locker. No one was there waiting for her this time, and she could only speculate as to where they were. She had seen both of their cars in the front parking lot, so she knew that they woke up on time and were healthy.

Grunting in frustration, she slammed her locker door and trooped down the stairs to find Anne and her group of friends. One day during lunch, Anne offered to give morning asylum by her locker in Senior Hall. Sydney arrived to see that the "regulars" had already arrived: both Katie/Caty, Summer, Jill Davies, Linda Schlesinger, Bridget Carter (from French 1), and others who she did not have time to remember because something piqued her interest

Vaughn was there, leaning against the white lockers with an American History book cracked open in his lap. Anne was leaning over and poking at it here and there with her index finger, probably trying her best to translate the complicated English words. As soon as she saw Syd poised in the middle of the hallway, she jabbed Vaughn in his side and scooted over to join the rest of her friends. Syd only sighed and collapsed into the newly vacated spot, ignoring his very existence. Instead of greeting him, she pulled out her assignment notebook to look through the year. Despite the chaotic mess of numerous conversations going on around them, their lack of dialogue pressed in on her until she was almost claustrophobic.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, the fact that someone was speaking registered. "I've been looking for you guys everywhere. Where the hell have you been?" Glancing up, she realized it was Weiss and Joe Hall, both carrying large boxes. He sat down Indian-style at the end of their outstretched legs and offered his box to them. "Donuts? They're really good: something called Krispy Kremes?" At this, the rest of the group attacked Joe, leaving him with only a cup of steaming coffee in his right hand.

Eric turned to Sydney, offering her a steaming Styrofoam cup as well. "You need to lighten up on him." He nodded towards Vaughn, whose eyes suddenly darted back down to his book. "He's only _doing his job_. Plus, he told me about your immense lack of cooking skills and even gave me money so that we could get you a proper breakfast this morning."

"You call this a proper breakfast?"

"Well, it's better than cereal bars and soda."

"Pop!" Everyone yelled from the group to his right. Anne expanded, "It's pop. Not soda, not Coke. Pop. Like the music or the sound that you make when you stick a plunger on the floor and pull it up quickly."

Weiss just blinked at her, and she returned to her previous conversation. "Anyways," He segued, narrowing his eyes and throwing Anne a strange look, "my point is, don't be too hard on the guy. He knows what he's doing." Giving him a long sideways glance, Weiss reached over and ruffled Vaughn's hair, earning a grunt and a swat, but also a smile.

Vaughn then looked up into Syd's face, knowing that she could read his soul through his eyes. They began a silent conversation.

'_What the hell have you been doing?'_

'_You have to trust me. Just like before.'_

'_Is trust going to become an issue again? Will you ever tell me everything that's going on in your head? I know I tell you.'_

'_Just__wait. You'll see. It's nothing bad, I swear. You just have to—'_

'_Trust you. I know. And I do. But if you screw me over, you'll be facin' a lot more than a bloody murder from my father. I don't know if I could ever forgive you.'_

Anne's loud voice broke their telepathic connection. "So what are y'all doin' this weekend? I hear Bridget Geraghty is having a Happy School Year party or something. Are you going?"

Syd quickly shook her head and smiled sweetly, her dimples blaring. "No. I have to study. Plus, I don't think my parents would appreciate me going to a party hosted by someone I don't even know." During her _real_ high school career, she told many fibs like this to get out of parties or dances when in reality she was just too scared to go.

But Anne saw right through this. "Yeah right. That's bullshit. You're just gonna hook up with Michael and not tell me. Don't even _try_ to deny it," She added, seeing both of them lean forward to glare at her dangerously. "So I'm right in guessing that Michael is unavailable for the weekend. What about you, Greg? What're you doin'?"

Eric remained unfazed. "Football," He grunted in response, devoid of all emotion. "All freakin' weekend. Yay."

"Ha, ha!" Sydney suddenly laughed, a smile cracking upon her lips. "That rhymed! Freakin' weekend "

"You're done," More than one voice announced almost automatically and without glancing up.

Anne was unable to contain her laughter, and the four of them conversed until the bell rang, signaling the mad dash for first hour. But before she left to walk about a hundred feet to the door of her English classroom, Vaughn's hand appeared on her shoulder and stopped her. He hugged Sydney so fiercely that Anne blushed and turned away. Bringing her ear close to his mouth he whispered in the lowest voice he could muster, "I'll explain everything at the debrief. Don't worry. You're so beautiful."

Syd's heart melted immediately; she could no sooner be mad at him than stop breathing. But all she could do was touch a feathery-light kiss upon his cheek as the warning bell rang and they sprinted off in opposite directions.

Their English class was getting their first reading assignment of the year, and despite how desperately she wanted to hide it, she was excited beyond belief. As the two females slid into their seats, twin copies of a thick book were waiting for them.

"_War and Peace_, Leo Tolstoy's most famous work," Mr. Tressaut announced, brandishing a weathered copy for them to behold. "A story of fate and war set during one of Russia's hardest times. I hope all of you enjoy reading this as much as I did."

It was all Sydney could do to keep from laughing.

'It's long. Like, Tolstoy-long.'

She HAD to tell Vaughn!

It would be a crime to not tell him.

It also reminded her of the beat-up edition that sat on the metal desk in her mother's cell. This thought brought down the bubbly laughter that had risen in her throat. Now that she thought about it, there was a part of her that missed her mother, missed absolutely everyone who she had ever known: Francie, Will, Dixon and his family, even Marshall

Anne noticed Syd's fleeting look of whistfulness and mistook it to mean her friend was unhappy with their actual reading material. "Don't worry, you'll muddle through this somehow. I could practically dictate half the damn book to you right now." Upon seeing Syd's eyebrows knot in confusion she added, "I read this in my sophomore year; it was the book I chose as my prize for winning the best sophomore writing contest. I was hoping we would read _Crime and Punishment_ by Dostoyevsky or _Les Miserables_ by Hugo first: I just started them at home."

This confused Sydney more than it aided her, and all she could do was stare.

First hour passed eventually, and she parted with Anne at the doors of the music department to reluctantly wait for Vaughn. She still held onto the grudge much like Weiss had on their first day. Leaning against the cinder block wall, she folded her arms across her chest and waited. And waited. And waited some more. The warning bell came and went and Vaughn still declined to make an appearance. Throwing her arms into the air in exasperation, she stormed through the music department — and past a very confused Weiss — to grab her instrument and flip folder from the closet.

He showed up halfway through the hour, slipping through the door by the drum line during the middle of "Battle Hymn" while wiping his nose and rubbing his eyes. Even from her seat across the room, Syd could tell that his eyes were bloodshot. There was the soft clap of wood on wood as the door behind her closed. Olivia Tamme slid into her usual seat next to the computer and under the clock. Syd could smell the stench of cannabis that permeated the air around the girl, and it was stronger than usual. Her eyes were also a darker shade of pink than normal.

It did not take a person trained in the art of espionage to figure out what had transpired.

But that being said, Syd sincerely could not believe her eyes. Perhaps she had actually collapsed in front of her locker from sleep deprivation and this was all a dream. Yes, that would be nice, wouldn't it? Vaughn would not be ditching class to get high with a child almost half his age.

Syd could feel his eyes on her as they ran through the halftime show yet again; the heat radiating from across the room stifling her and causing her fingers to stumble over themselves, her instrument no longer spouting practiced music but high-pitched squeaks and puffs of air. Anne shifted in her seat to look at the struggling musician with raised eyebrows. Sydney merely shook her head dismissively and adjusted the piccolo's head under the pretense of keeping it in tune. She would ignore Vaughn until he saw fit to tell her what the hell he was up to. She could be every bit as stubborn as he was, if not even more so: after all, she was the daughter of Irina Derevko and Jack Bristow, the two people who created and perfected stubbornness.

Second hour ended, and Syd hurriedly dragged Weiss down the hall by the collar of his Chicago Bears jersey; the last thing she wanted was a run-in with Vaughn while he might still be high as a kite. She only let go of her friend's clothing when they had reached the pool and the Lincoln ramp.

Weiss attempted to smooth out the wrinkled material as she stood next to the double doors, scoping the throngs of students for Vaughn. "What the hell was that for? If you were that rushed, I would have expected you to pull me into a closet somewhere and have your way with me. Although " He trailed off, his playful smile disappearing. "That's not the reason you dragged me here so fast, is it? Care to share? Come on, now, tell Uncle We — Greg what's wrong." She joined the flowing crowd and began storming up the ramp towards the outside walkway and he tried to follow, dodging shorter students that were walking slower than he wanted to go.

Losing sight of her for a time, he had almost written off Sydney's strange behavior as a particularly volatile case of PMS when he found her again waiting by the water fountain next to the guys' bathroom. She was taping her foot impatiently with her fists jammed into her hips. He sighed heavily but approached her all the same. Pretending to take a drink he asked quietly, "Does this have anything to do with Mike?"

She visibly bristled as the anger boiled up inside of her and overflowed in the form of hot tears, which she angrily swiped away with the back of her hand. "Tell _your friend_ that if he _ever_ wants to have a serious relationship with me, he will have to learn how to open his mouth once in a while. Tell _your friend_ that the next time he speaks to me, he better come armed with an explanation, apology, and lots and lots of compliments." The warning bell rang and she stalked away down the hall to her French classroom and her third hour class, leaving her companion utterly bewildered.

The next time the two met, Sydney again practically pulled Eric by the ear down the ramps and, without even pretending to look for Vaughn, continued down the hallway towards Entrance C. She allowed her friend to split from her side in order to troop to the guys' locker room, and she continued on to her American History class amidst stormy clouds of persistent anger. As the warning bell rang she became aware of two things: the sound of her pseudo name swimming in a French accent floating over the din; and out of the corner of her eye she saw a tall male jumping over the heads of fellow classmates with one hand waving in the air and the other securing the waistband of his jeans. She merely turned into her room and sat in her assigned seat with her back to the door, willing the feelings his voice had awoken to return to hibernation.

* * *

American History bled into lunch, which bled into strength training. Sydney had no idea whether she had done, said, or learned anything in those two or so hours of school. What she did remember was the companionable silence that she shared with Anne during lunch: while Syd poked and prodded her home-made salad with her plastic fork, Anne buried her head in the aforementioned _Les Miserables_ with an occasional nibble of a school-made vegetable tray. And while once in a while the latter would flick her eyes over the top of the paperback and open her mouth as if to say something, she did not. Sydney appreciated this more than words could say.

There was a sick, sinking feeling of dread laying like lead in the pit of her stomach at the very thought of passing period before ninth hour. But what about ninth hour itself? How could she spend an entire class hour ignoring the very man who sat barely a foot away from her? The very man who — only a week ago — she would have been content to lock in a closet and ravage at will? Who now she just wanted to beat him senseless and _then_ lock him in that closet (alone) and throw away the key? Sadness and choler and tension were all vying for her attention, volleying her heart and brain in different directions. They congealed to form a solid block of angst that was immovably fixed inside of her.

She finally decided that she would simply switch seats with Weiss more than doubling the distance between her and Vaughn, and try to freeze him out of her consciousness. Besides, the gregarious Mr. Tull would not mind if his best student traded seats for just one day. Her performance might even improve

So when the bell rang to signal the end of eighth hour, Syd darted out of the locker room with a firm grip on her books and purse, ignoring both men waiting for her just around the corner. Vaughn had been slouching against a brick pillar but Weiss had been ready for an apoplectic Sydney and was off and running, towing his friend behind him.

"Jane! Jane! Goddamn it, would you just slow down!" After she climbed the stairs she stopped dead in her tracks, causing the students behind her to topple down the stairs like dominoes, cursing her in both English and Spanish. The other undercover agents waded through the swamp of teens, books, and papers but when they reached the top of the stairs, she took off again at full speed, her arms swinging in an attempt to propel herself further. Weiss just sighed and hurried after her, a disinterested Vaughn forcibly trailing behind.

She stormed into the classroom and took Eric's seat in the back, the door slowly drifting to a close with a click as she slammed her books on the table. Rubbing her temples and closing her eyes, she began to meditate and finally relax for the first time in days — the silence provided by the lack of students was definitely a plus. But Syd's tenuous grip on sanity broke with the soft clearing of a throat from the front of the room. Sydney reluctantly opened her eyes, the fluorescent light reaching around her eyeballs to her brain and embedding its irritating nature into her frontal lobe.

The image of her father's head stretched over the top of his monitor swam into her vision. A look of passive concern settled on his façade behind the blue-green glare from the computer screen. He raised an eyebrow inquisitively but kept his voice even. "After school, Miss Porter?"

"Yes sir," She answered, and almost immediately her classmates began filing in, the final bell beeping loud and clear; apparently while she had been "meditating" the warning had tolled without her knowledge. Weiss and Vaughn were included in the middle of the pack, arguing animatedly with each other until they caught sight of the visibly distraught Syd.

Eric made his way over first, and instead of simply sliding into the middle chair, he claimed Vaughn's seat on the end. This prompted copious amounts of tugging, prodding, poking, and stage-whispered curses. Vaughn eventually shoved Weiss onto the middle seat as well, causing him to be off balance and giving Vaughn the opportunity to reclaim his chosen seat. Weiss had subsequently tumbled to the floor, but he rose quickly and dusted himself off with only a moderate amount of swearing.

Jack hastily called the class to order, rising from his computer to extract a stack of stapled lab packets from his desk and began passing them out. Sydney passively noticed that he was not wearing a sweater vest; instead he was clad in a grey Glenfield sweatshirt with a wildcat logo over his heart concealing a white turtleneck and a pair of jeans that looked like the last time they saw daylight was the day her bought them. "Our lab today has to do with certain chemicals and their reactions with heat. Lab write-ups are due Monday at the beginning of class. Bunsen burners and chemicals are at your stations. Oh, and Mr. Hund," He added to a portly, rowdy junior, "please try not to _completely_ melt your pencil this time." The rest of the class snickered as they rose and gravitated to their lab stations situated along the walls.

Without moving his head, Eric glanced from agent to agent as if to gauge their reactions. Sydney merely extracted a pencil from her purse, grabbed her packet, and headed to the section of counter directly behind them to get started. While she set up their experiment, she heard Weiss and Vaughn having another muted squabble and finally the scraping of their chairs as they rose to join her.

She savagely twisted the Bunsen burner onto the nozzle of the gas jet and turned the handle, but when she went to strike a match to light it, Eric wrestled the fire lighter away form her with an untrusting look. Frowning deeply, she returned to the chemicals. Syd was beginning to detest the silence, but she sure as hell would not be the one to break it. Weiss seemed a little more eager to strike up a conversation while he struggled with the old match. "So how 'bout this weather we're having? It's such a beautiful day; I can't seem to remember what a cloud looks like."

"Greg, there are no windows in this room. And I haven't seen daylight since third hour, so I wouldn't know."

He sighed heavily; his attempt at friendliness utterly shot down. Finally igniting the gas, Eric began looking at his partners expectantly, waiting for one of them to tell him what to do. Instead, when his eyes alighted upon Vaughn, his friend grumbled in a low French accent, "Do not let _your friend_ treat you like that. In France, we would have taught her more respect. Tell her that we can substitute her for someone less touchy."

Weiss turned back to Sydney with an enlightened look lighting up his eyes despite the rage and indignation that filled her own. "Hey, that reminds me, you'll never guess who walked into my four/five math class this morning—"

"Tell _your friend_," Syd commanded through dangerously gritted teeth, "that if he doesn't shut up and pass the phosphorus in two seconds, he'll be substituting rolled up socks for his balls!"

"Whoa! Retract the claws, Cat Woman!" Eric replied for his friend who, despite the nasty dig, looked quite unfazed, even bored. "Violence is not the answer."

"Damn right. It's the solution."

"Miss Porter!" Mr. Tull called over the class's din. Talk stopped immediately, and all eyes snapped to the tall brunette who was staring back at her teacher with her jaw slackened in shock. Mr. Tull was waving a blue dean's slip at her with an uneasy-looking student standing near the door. They had been so wrapped up in their anger that they had not heard the student assistant enter. "Miss Porter, they request your presence down in the dean's office." The paper wagged again, and she pushed past her fellow agents and walked down the centre aisle, the glares of every student burning into her from three sides. She took the paper without a word and followed the student assistant out of the room.

'_What could I have possibly done to earn a dean's referral?'_ She asked herself, positively livid as she stomped down the stairs to the first floor, parting with the assistant. _'Vaughn's been the one breaking all the rules! I'm Miss Goody-Fucking-Two-Shoes! If either of them planted something on me just for a laugh, I will have absolutely __**no**__ misgivings about killing them both in the most painful way possible.'_ She did not bother to avoid the security guard outside of Commons, but forgot to flash the tall African-American man her pass, causing him to call out to her. Turning around and fuming, she was ready to damn the consequences and curse him out when a not-so-new face floated into her field of vision.

"Dixon?"

Fellow CIA agent Marcus Dixon smiled back at her with a friendly and bemused grin. "And where are you going in such a hurry, Miss Porter?"

"The dean's office?" She replied slowly, the pass that had been all but forgotten still dangling from her fingers. Five seconds ago Sydney had been angry at the world and now Now one of her closest friends was standing in front of her in black slacks, a white shirt, blue uniform sweater vest (_'I guess they're infectious'_), and wielding a walkie-talkie. Her brain had completely shut down like an overloaded computer, plunging the rest of her senses into complete chaos. For now, the small part of her mind that was still functioning decided, she would just go with the flow.

Dixon nodded mutely, but gestured in the opposite direction of her destination. "Right this way. Shall I escort you?" Syd shrugged in indifference, and he radioed for someone to take over for him in Commons. He led her down a rarely used hallway and guided her into a windowless classroom, using one of the numerous keys on his belt to unlock it. Then he revealed a non-descript ballpoint pen and uncapped it. "Just in case there are video cameras. We're free to talk now." He smiled widely at her look of mixed impatience, anger, confusion, and a hint of blankness (up by the patch of skin by her right ear); they combined to concoct a horribly ugly grimace. "It's okay. I'm not gonna bite you, Syd."

"What — what are you d-doing here?" Sydney stammered out as she slid into a desk in the front row. "I — I thought that it was only supposed to be me, Vaughn, and Dad on this mission. Then Weiss was added, and now you? Is there anyone else here, possibly posing as a janitor or something?"

"Well, actually—"

"I take it back. I don't want to know," She cut him off abruptly, running a hand over her tired face. "Just tell me what _you_ are doing here. Please. Before I officially go insane."

Dixon laughed his deep, throaty chuckle and perched himself on the corner of the teacher's desk. "Trouble in paradise?" He asked with an eyebrow raised to chide her.

She groaned in response. "Don't remind me, Dixon. I hate the entire world right now."

"You sound like every teenager ever born, my daughter in particular." She looked up sharply and he rewarded her with a wink. "Don't worry, Syd, it'll get better. I promise. You've survived it once, remember? What's another time around?"

Syd scoffed, "Whoever said these were the best years of your life was on crack." She visibly winced at her word choice. "I mean, I've only been 'back' for a week; I have one hundred and seventy-three more school days to go. How the hell am I gonna survive them all?"

"It'll work out, Syd," He reiterated again. "Plus, the sooner we bust these guys, the sooner we all get out of here and back to the real bad guys."

She smiled gratefully at her older partner as she rested her head on her hand. "Which reminds me: you never told me why you're here."

He returned her grin as he realized that she had seen through his diversionary tactic. "I was scheduled to come in the first place. Do you really think that they would send only four agents to take down an entire Colombian drug ring, even if they included the two most famous doubles in history?" He asked rhetorically. She shook her head anyway, blushing slightly at the compliment. "But I have no idea why they didn't tell you. Kendall and Devlin probably just wanted to screw with everyone's heads all the way from the West Coast."

Suddenly looking at the timepiece on his wrist he jumped off of the desk. "You better be getting back to class. Here." He slid another blue pass out of his back pocket and handed it to her. It was almost identical to the pass still in her hand, but had both "in" and "out" times and was signed by Dead Arroyo himself. Chuckling at her confusion he commented, "Signature stamps killed the cat. Those things are so easy to counterfeit. I'm surprised more kids don't try doing it to get themselves out of class."

Syd rolled her eyes. "They probably do. Remember, I haven't been here that long; I don't know all of their ins and outs yet."

Smiling, he produced the same key as before and unlocked the door. "Your cover story is that Arroyo called you down to ask you how the first week was. He's a really nice man, so it's completely in character for him."

Pausing before she exited the room she inquired, "How did they hire you so quickly? Wouldn't they have to check your background and everything?"

"It was easy for a retired CIA agent to get such a cushy job." A wink, and he recapped the pen.

* * *

By the time she finally moseyed back into her classroom, everyone was done with the lab and she had to copy Weiss's sloppy results instead of Vaughn's surprisingly organized set: despite her amiable demeanor while talking with Dixon, she had not forgotten her indignation towards Vaughn. Ninth hour ended, and she parted with Weiss by offering a hug and small peck on the cheek, prompting an unobstructed look of confusion from Anne as she filed out of the classroom. Sydney sluggishly dragged her feet towards her tenth hour math classroom. Practically trailing her purse on the floor, she forced herself into the windowless classroom and took her seat at one of the desks with a discouraged sigh. Glancing around the room, she noticed Mr. Hassan was absent, and a foreign briefcase was perched precariously on a teetering stack of papers. Her brain began to buzz happily. _'Yay! A sub! Hopefully we'll just have to watch a movie and I can sleep all the way through it.'_

Her gaze swept over the empty room and finally breezed past the front board. She swung her head back for a double take. Her eyes widened to an extremely painful size and she did not bother to check her volume as she exclaimed, "'Mr. Flinkman'? _Marshall?_"

"Yes?"

* * *

"Does someone want to explain what the hell is going on before my head explodes?" Sydney demanded, gripping the edge of a front lab table so tightly that her knuckles etiolated to white. She had somehow made it through math class — clinging to her last shred of sanity — with Marshall Flinkman as her substitute teacher, and even managed to giggle with the rest as he stuttered his way through the lesson plans. Now it was about fifteen minutes after school, almost every classroom Syd had seen was dark, and their "meeting" had just started. Much to Vaughn and Weiss's mutual surprise, Dixon and Marshall were ushered into the room by Syd and were now sitting at the lab table across the aisle.

Jack sat in his chair at the front of the room, facing the rest of them with his arms crossed over his chest much like he did during class. Gone was the funny, generous, _nice_ Mr. Tull and in his place was the more familiar harsh stare of Jack Bristow. At the moment, that stare was focused on his daughter, sitting on top of the lab table with the other undercover students sitting in the chairs behind it.

Weiss peeked his head around Syd's back and added, "Yeah, I agree. Vaughn and I would also _really_ like to know what's going on."

The eldest agent nodded placidly before replying. "Kendall contacted me this morning to say that two other agents would be joining us. I naturally assumed that they would be from the area, but this is a pleasant surprise. Welcome Marcus, Marshall." He nodded to each in turn, but before he could continue Marshall stood up.

Raising his arm in almost a half wave, half shaking hands with the air, he laughed nervously. "H-hey guys! I-I'm really glad t-to be here. I mean, it's my first real mission. You know, with the CIA, because that one we went on in London, Syd, wasn't really with the CIA 'cause we were still working for Sloane and SD-6 and it didn't really have a good outcome, what with me getting kidnapped and tortured and all. Not that you weren't great, Syd, 'cause you were; you were 'practically perfect in every way,'" He added, adopting an English accent. "But this'll be my first real mission, and I'm so excited! And to be working with you guys again ! By the way, how did the luggage work out for you on the plane ride? It didn't act up, did it? I programmed it to show your basic travel essentials: shoes, socks, shirts, pants, underwear, and bras for you, Syd, you know, 'cause you're a girl and you need that kind of thing—"

"Marshall!" Jack exclaimed in irritation. He proceeded to stare at the nervous techie until he hastily reclaimed his seat while Dixon and Syd shared a reassuring smile with him. Her father turned back to the group at large. "Your first full week has just been completed. Anything of note to report?"

Sydney shook her head. "I haven't signed up for any clubs, so I don't have anything to say, really. So far almost everyone I've met, though, is clean." She shot a look out of the corner of her eye at Vaughn, but he was still gazing fixedly at Jack.

Focus shifted to Weiss, who scoffed and sat back in his chair on two legs. "Are you kidding me? No one on this football team thinks they'll win even one game this season. They don't even try! Apparently this school hasn't been to the playoffs since before I was born, so if any of them are taking anything it's either stupid pills or just really defective. We have nothing to worry about with these guys."

"Still," Jack said, "I believe you should continue to monitor them. We don't know if there is an extremely dedicated athlete who will go to any lengths to enhance his performance." Weiss sniggered into his fist, earning warning glares from both Sydney and Vaughn.

The latter took over the conversation. "I've started my hazing for the _Negro/Azul_. I should know by Monday if I'm in or not. I'm pretty sure I've got it in the bag, though," He added, a cocky smile threatening a corner of his mouth.

Syd whipped her head around to face him. "Is that where you've been all week? Off with all the druggies?"

The silence that followed her pointed questions was filled with discomfort and tension. Vaughn's eyes flittered nervously about the room's occupants and finally came to rest on the senior Bristow; the younger agent's eyes filled with fear at the glare of warning that remained unbridled and unchecked. Dragging his eyes back to the only woman of the group he answered quietly, "I don't think this is the time or the place to discuss this, Syd, but yes. Now let's get on with the debriefing—"

"_Then make it the time and the place, because we are discussing this NOW_."

Vaughn showed his unease by indiscreetly tugging on his earlobe, and the ever-present wrinkles broke out over his forehead. She passively wondered if any other girl had seen those worry lines and instantly fell for him just like she had. "Uh "

"Here." From behind the desk, Jack tossed Vaughn his ring of keys, jangling as they sailed through the air and into the clutches of his long fingers. (Mr. Guter always threw the keys to the back closets to the drum line from his director's stand, so they all had to keep their eyes open and be a good catch.) "Mrs. Parks's room next door. You have twenty minutes. Go."

He led the way out of the room and about twenty feet down the deserted hall to the next large faux wood door. She waited impatiently for him to find the right key and unlock the door; she would have just questioned him in the hallway, but she had no idea who could be listening, and going into a classroom to "talk" seemed less conspicuous than cursing each other out in the corridor. The door finally clicked open, and Syd literally pushed him inside before flicking on the lights and shutting the heavy wood behind her.

Vaughn slammed the keys down on the desk at the front of the room, identical to Jack's except for its over-enthusiastic and colorful posters. "What the hell was that about, Sydney? Why are you acting like a child?"

"Excuse me?" She countered in disbelief, stepping closer to him. "_I'm_ acting like a child? Look at you! Running around with your little gang-banging buddies "

"Again, what's the deal?"

"Okay, let's count them off shall we?" She replied sadistically with a hint of sarcasm and a condescending edge. "You blow me off after school Wednesday and Thursday, again during band Thursday night—"

"Is that all? You're angry because I haven't been paying enough attention to you?"

"—You blew me off before school, you come to band halfway through the period followed by Olivia Tamme and both of you are stoned—"

"You know full well that I was not _really_ stoned, Syd!"

"—You're all bad-ass in Chemistry, and nowhere in here do you provide me with an explanation!"

"Oh, so you think you _deserve_ an explanation?"

"Yes, I do."

"Syd, think about it!" He cried, a smile threatening to overtake his façade. "It's my cover! I need to get into one of these gangs so that this mission will be successful, even if it costs me some of my personal freedoms and pleasures." He moved to take her into his arms, but she turned her back on him and stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest. Sighing, Vaughn cupped his hands around her shoulders and brought his lips next to her left ear. "I'm sorry I didn't clue you in, but I honestly thought you would figure it out. What didn't occur to me, though, was the fact that you might get jealous." She could practically hear his smile so she sniffed melodramatically, trying to convince herself as well as him that she was still angry with him. Vaughn merely nicked the soft shell of her ear with his tongue and whispered, "It's endearing. And don't try to pretend that my charm isn't working you over."

"Your smooth moves and sweet words do nothing to me " She trailed off absentmindedly, his lips latching on to her pulse and rendering her speechless. She turned around to face him and snaked her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as his own appendages found her hips. "Damn you for being so irresistible, Michael Vaughn. You'll get yours; just wait and see."

"As long as I get it from you."

"Lame, Mr. Vaughn, very lame. We're gonna have to work on your pick-up lines, dear."

"Why? I've already got _you_. Who else do I need?" Then their lips found each other and began a familiar dance known to every generation of lovers. Hands wandered and hips ground as they moved against one another; the couple fought hard and made up as such. Vaughn guided her back into a lab table and lifted her onto it, her thighs cradling his hips instinctively.

Before things could progress further, the door banged open and Weiss poked his head in, covering his eyes but peeking through the gaps between his fingers anyway. "Time's up. Man, even when you guys are _fighting_ we can't leave you alone for more than two seconds. I've made it my personal prerogative to build you two a sex house—without windows, by the way. Oh, and I'm guessing you made up? Or would that be signified by you two humping like rabbits on a lab table?"

"Shut up, Weiss."

"Yes ma'am, as long as I don't have to be the messenger anymore. You two looked like you wanted to do more than just shoot me during Chem."

"Fine. Just leave us alone "

"But Jack wants you back _now_. And he's mad enough that he had to send his daughter and her boyfriend to another room unsupervised."

"Alright! Just tell him a lie You're a spy You'll come up with a good one."

"Jeez. You guys make me sick. Fine, I will. But if Jack kills me, I am _so_ going to come back and haunt your horny asses."

"As long as you leave now."

"I'm already gone."

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Ten:** Any Given Friday  
**Chapter Eleven:** Good Ole Days

Remember when I said that it would move faster once they got to school? [laughs] Well, I lied. The next nine chapters will bring us up to right before Thanksgiving. This is going to be one frickin' long story…

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this! Constructive criticism is always welcome!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	10. Activities Night

**Same stuff…**

**Chapter Genre:** We're back to the fluffy humour.

**This Chapter:** Pillow talk, possible country-fleeing, the pool table is used for what it was built for, Vaughn gets hit in the head with a dart, a Syd/Weiss affair, and Activities Night

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "London Rain (Nothing Heals Me Like You Do)" by Heather Nova, "In This Diary" by the Ataris, "Life Got in the Way" by Sister Hazel, and "What's Simple is True" by Jewel

**Author's Note:** This was actually the chapter that inspired me to write the story, although it was very different back in the early stages of development. Back then, it focused more on the actual event, was a lot fluffier, and did not included three of the characters it does now. So I guess you can thank this lame function for spurring me on to actually write this story.

* * *

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Ten: Activities Night**

It was too perfect to disturb, too serene to ripple. Even though her eyes were closed and her mind was clouded with cobwebs from the previous night's dreams, she could feel that it would be a beautiful day. Through the open window above her head, she could hear robins chirping, squirrels and chipmunks scurrying, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, and even the distant buzz of a lawnmower. She held her breath in awe of her surroundings, needing only one more thing to make it utterly complete.

And she got it.

The arms around her waist tightened possessively as Vaughn spooned her. "Open your eyes: I know you're awake. Nothing's going to disappear if you do."

She smiled and stretched against him, refusing to rub the sleep from her eyes. "How do you know it won't burst into flames or float away with the breeze?"

"Because I'm nowhere near that light."

She giggled and turned in his embrace, facing him before slowly peeling her eyelids apart. "'Morning."

He laughed shortly, leaning in for an Eskimo kiss. "Try again, hon. It's the afternoon. One twenty-seven to be exact," Vaughn added after peering over her at the digital bedside clock.

Scrambling out of his arms, she stabbed at her eyes and glared at the timepiece less than a foot from her face. "One twenty-seven? How could we sleep so late? We went to bed at eight o'clock! I missed an entire hour of crappy teenager-geared WB sitcoms that I could've been taking notes from!"

"Yeah, but we didn't go to sleep until eleven."

She blushed and dug her head into the crook of his neck, smiling into his skin. "I know, and that's still over fourteen hours of sleep! Now I see why teenagers nowadays spend half of the daylight hours in bed. Who in the world would voluntarily get up earlier than noon when they have to get up at five thirty almost every other morning?" Sighing melodramatically, Syd settled back on her pillow with Vaughn's arm under her shoulders. "What would my father say if he could see us now?"

"How about 'how the hell can she still be asleep when she knows we have things to discuss from yesterday?' 'Cause that's what he said when I told him that you were still conked out."

She sat bolt upright, the soft sheets pooling around her bare waist. "My father's here? NOW? Why the hell didn't you wake me up sooner?" Throwing him a careless jab, her fist landed on his stomach harder than she meant it to, causing him to sputter, gasp, and roll off the bed with a thump. "And never say 'conked out' again. Unless you're making fun of it. 'Cause then that's okay."

"Your dad is in the basement fitting the windows with tinted glass. He didn't want to wake you, thought I'm sure that he would have sacrificed your sleep cycle in exchange for beating the living crap out of me. Although I guess it didn't help that I answered the door."

"You answered the door?" She repeated, blinking stupidly. "Naked? Vaughn, are you sure I'm not talking to a ghost?"

He laughed as she leaned over the side of the bed to poke his chest repeatedly. "Are you kidding me? I may be getting paid to pretend I'm high as a kite, but I'm not stupid. I was wearing a bathrobe. That decided to grow a will of its own and fly open at the most inopportune moment. Needless to say, Jack Bristow can now exchange embarrassing Naked Vaughn stories at family gatherings and picnics."

"He saw Mini Vaughn?"

The large Vaughn groaned and rolled his eyes. "Do you have to call my penis _Mini_ Vaughn? I do have feelings, you know. That hurts my ego, Syd. And his."

"Well, your ego could do with a beat-down. It's almost getting bigger than your real head."

"Wait a second. What are we talking about? I'm lost."

She paused. "I don't know. Sex? Beat-downs? I wouldn't be surprised if we combined the two and went the whips and chains route."

"Well, we don't have time because your father happens to be one floor below us. I have no idea why he's _really_ here, and frankly I don't have the courage to find out by myself. That would require you, my dear, to get out of bed. And put clothes on; you don't want to make the same mistake I did."

"No!" She groaned loudly, collapsing back onto the pillows like a dead fish. "I'm tired and comfortable and I don't want to move!"

"Just think of it this way," Vaughn suggested, pulling himself onto his knees and resting his chin on his folded hands at the edge of the mattress, "the sooner we get him out of here, the sooner we can return to more pleasant activities."

Syd's face lit up. "You mean we can continue our on-line cooking tutorial! Because we really need it. And I'm really hungry."

Vaughn swatted playfully at her arm as he rose. She noted for the first time that he was wearing those ever-present baggy jeans, riding dangerously low on his hips, but denying her a view because of the plaid boxers underneath. Passively, she wondered if he secretly liked them, if he would gladly trade in his trademark suit and tie for the more 'hip' attire. But her thoughts were jolted from her brain by a pillow colliding with her head. "Get dressed already! I'm in enough trouble as it is without Jack thinking that we're having sex while he's on the same block."

"Yeah, he just might think we're human."

"_You_ are human. In his eyes, I'm just another Joe Shmoe who's trying to steal his daughter. And I don't want to enhance the perception of the Evil Boyfriend."

"Oh, he won't hurt you," She scoffed, digging out a random outfit form her drawers. "Much. Okay, so he'll rip you _member_ from _member_ and probably _enjoy_ burying your parts around the globe. But until then, we can have hot monkey jungle sex, right?"

"Whatever. Just get dressed so that I live to do that later, okay?"

"Fine. Ruin my fun. You know, you're cute when my dad yells at you."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Well, then that makes it all bearable."

"Was that sarcastic?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

* * *

Jack's real purpose for being there became instantly obvious as the couple trooped down the stairs into the unfinished and cluttered basement. As Vaughn had said, the windows were blacked out with an unknown material, and now the eldest agent was clearing a small space on the previously untouched tool bench.

"Hey Dad," Sydney greeted, bouncing lightly down the stairs in front of a very cautious Vaughn. "What are you doing? Can I help you with anything?"

The senior Bristow glanced up distractedly as he searched for an outlet on the wall behind the bench. "Marshall wanted me to tell you that he'd be happy to do your math homework, Sydney. I trust that Agent Vaughn has already sent him his work as well." It was a statement and not a question, but Vaughn nodded shortly all the same.

Sydney stared between the two men in confusion. "But that doesn't make sense. If Vaughn comes to school with his homework done, it'll subtract from his cover." She could not help but remember just yesterday when she had turned a blind eye to everything even remotely connected to her boyfriend's cover. "And I don't think Marshall is capable of doing anything wrong; even on purpose."

The man next to her smiled smugly. "Oh, you don't have to worry about that. I gave him the wrong assignment, so even if he does them correctly, they'll still be _way_ off the mark."

"You're a genius, dear," She said, adopting an English accent as she wrapped her arms around his torso and hugged him.

He remained unresponsive, probably out of fear; Jack was glaring at him with a large hammer poised at his side. Only when the latter returned to shuffling tools about did Vaughn feel it was safe to start breathing again.

Mr. Bristow hefted a large, rusted toolbox from the dirty cement floor and beckoned them closer. Lifting the lid, he revealed a mundane removable tray of tools, which he flipped over into the lid. On the underside was a small computer screen with a matching keyboard implanted into the bottom of the box. "This is to monitor the cameras you were supplied with in L.A. It can recall images from any of your covert appliances. All you have to do is type in its serial number and your ID." Doing just that, Jack pulled up the image of what was clearly one of the science classrooms at the school.

Sydney stared at the small green-tinted screen with her patented Look of Bewilderment. "But I didn't plant any cameras in the science wing."

Her father's face remained unreadable as he tilted his head ever so slightly. "I know. I did. Your cameras have both been disabled: the mint was stepped on and the lipstick camera is covered in chewing gum. This is a live feed from Mrs. Parks's room."

Vaughn and Syd did not bother to conceal their exchanged looks of pure fear. She instinctively stepped between her father and her boyfriend, stationing her feet shoulder-width apart in a balanced fighting stance. Somehow she kept her voice even as she inquired, "When did you plant this camera?"

"Monday."

"It's been recording ever since?"

"Yes."

"And you can pull up any time frame you want?"

"Correct."

"Would you excuse us for a moment?" His daughter asked, a fake smile denying the appearance of her dimples. She turned to Vaughn, her fingers tightly gripping his forearms and whispered, "_Run._ I'll hold him off as long as I can. Canada is that way." Flicking her eyes northwards, her smile morphed into a real grin. "Just get a hotel room in Toronto and I'll find you. _Now run!_"

And he did: up the stairs and out the door, but only drove as far north as Weiss's house, who merely promised to give away all of his best friend's secrets if Jack Bristow showed up on his doorstep with anything remotely resembling a gun or hypodermic needle.

* * *

"Michael, what do you want to do?"

"_Je ne sais pas. Qu'est-ce que tu veux faire, Jane?"_

"I don't know. What do you want to do, Anne?"

"I don't know. What do you want to do, Greg?"

"I don't know. What do you want to do, Michael?"

Sydney felt like screaming. The four of them had been carrying on as such for the majority of the hour in the basement of Weiss's house (his parents were "out"); they only broke off when a good song played on the radio. Vaughn was slaughtering Syd in their game of pool, and Weiss and Anne were haphazardly shooting darts. Most of hers were missing the board completely, bouncing off the tagboard behind it with a dull thwang. Their circular conversation simmered out as each pair concentrated on their respective sport, but a different tangent bubbled up when one of Anne's darts whizzed past Sydney's head and hit the concrete wall behind her.

The senior made a noise of frustration as she stormed over to retrieve it. "Can you believe I used to play softball? And I was really good, too? Sheesh. I can throw a twelve-inch softball over a hundred feet but a little itty-bitty dart? Yeah, no. Your turn Greg. Although I should just surrender now: I suck too much."

"You play softball?" Weiss repeated with mild interest. "I play baseball. What position?"

"_Played_," She corrected slowly, drawing out the word as she tapped her foot impatiently. "I quit after freshman year But when I did play, I was a three-time all star catcher. Got the trophies and certificates to prove it."

Syd could sense her reluctance about the subject but her curiosity got the better of her. And anyways, she had nothing better to think about; Vaughn was kicking her ass in their third straight game. "Why'd you quit if you were so good?"

A shadow passed over her friend's face, clouding her usually effervescent personality, and she nervously fidgeted with the black dart she was holding. "The girls. And the coaches, but it was mostly the girls. A bunch of bloated bitches with the combined brains of a squirrel. Their hobbies consisted off excluding people who didn't look like them, and they had a habit of spreading nasty rumors about them, too. Just a little hint: stay away from Dana Hansen, Kerri Jones, Lara Andropov, and Charlotte Kohn." Suddenly a staged smile rolled over her lips, its power of deception worthy of Sydney's praise. "But I haven't let my school experience ruin the entire sport. I'm still a baseball fanatic. And now it's time for the true test of character." Syd almost cringed, but noticed that her friend's smile had turned genuine. "Cubs or Sox?"

All three of them blanched. The seriousness of the question threw them off-guard; it seemed as if the girl had asked their opinion on affirmative action rather than their favourite baseball team. Weiss was the first one to recover. "Who's your favourite?"

She shook her head and crossed her arms. "Nope. Nice try, but you can't do that. Answer the question."

With joy, Sydney recalled an earlier conversation on this subject and blinked their unified answer to them in hasty Morse code. Simultaneously they answered, "Cubs."

Anne heaved an exaggerated sigh of relief. "Good, 'cause otherwise I wouldn't be able to be friends with you guys."

The other female laughed as she lined up her pool cue to take a shot. "So what are you doing instead of softball?"

And there was that cloud again. "I do drama. Forensics and the three plays, mostly. You all should join! The forensics team is always looking for new members! You can sign up at Activities Night. Y'all _are_ goin' to that, right?"

Vaughn nodded slowly as he watched the cue ball glide effortlessly into the corner pocket at his hip. Spitting out a few choice slang words at Syd in French, he dug out the ball and smiled slyly at her. She blatantly pointed at her boyfriend, and a dart came sailing out of nowhere and hit him square in the back of his head; this sent the girls into peals of laughter.

"Guess I still have some of those mad skills," Anne choked out between giggles.

Weiss forced a smile but dropped his darts onto the pool table, obstructing his friend's next shot. "You know what? I'm hungry."

Vaughn rolled his eyes. "Aren't you always?"

Anne seized the opportunity. "Sweet! Let's go! Okay, we have Scooby's, Tony's, or John's."

"What's the difference?" Weiss inquired, his interest obviously piqued.

"Scooby's has the fries and shakes; Tony's is known for their hot dogs; and John's is just expensive."

"John's it is! And everything's on Anne!"

"Like hell it is! You're the one with half a freakin' Best Buy in your basement. You can afford two medium pizzas and some pop."

"Damn you Illinois girls. Everyone thinks I'm made of money."

"It's a silent 's', hon."

"Shut up and get in the damn car."

* * *

Tuesday after school, Sydney pulled into her driveway and locked her car with a sigh. In just a few hours would be Activities Night and she resented going with a fiery passion; she had homework in every subject that could assign it, and even though Marshall had their math covered, the rest would take a good three hours or more. Cursing her father and his incessant lab write-ups, she began digging in her purse while balancing her belongings on her knee, but when she tried the doorknob it was open.

An intense feeling of unease overtook her as she quietly placed her things on the ledge, the metal keys even deciding to cooperate without a fight. A cabinet door banged closed in the kitchen, and Syd instinctively wrapped her fingers around her largest book: Pre Calculus. Wielding it as she would a real weapon, she crept through the family room and paused before she passed into plain view. Sydney took in a sharp breath as another cabinet door opened and banged shut, and she rounded the corner with a threatening yell.

"Calm yourself, Bristow. It's just me."

The book dropped to the floor with an echoing thump as her hands balled themselves into fists. "Weiss? What the hell are you doing? How did you get in here?"

"One at a time, Miss I Like to Bash Friends' Heads in With My Math Book." Weiss stood in front of the sink with an empty plate in his hand, an equally empty glass next to him on the counter, and a bemused expression slapped across his face.

Syd groaned, plucking the book from the tiled floor only to toss it heavily onto the counter. "What are you doing?"

He slid the plate next to the cup and leaned against the counter. "I can't do this anymore! If this goes on for one more day, I swear I will shoot myself in the foot."

"What, your involuntary sex fast? Is that what you were looking for in my cabinets: leggy blonde prostitutes?"

"No," He denied, almost a little too fervently. Gesturing towards the empty utensils he continued, "This! I hate having lunch eighth hour! Did you know that's around twelve thirty? I mean, yeah, we used to take lunch around that time in LA, but we also didn't get up before the crack of dawn to get to school! I'm so hungry, Syd!"

She stared at him in disbelief with her arms folded solidly over her chest. "So this is the reason you scare the freakin' crap out of me: to complain about your lunch hour being too late? Oh, and to steal my food, even though you ate only at about two and a half hours ago? You know I can't cook! And you live closer to Vaughn; why didn't you go and bug him?"

"I know, but I figured you'd be better at it than Mike. I mean, he _was_ the one who set the eggs on fire, not you."

"Yeah, I guess you're — hey!" She cut herself off, knotting her eyebrows in consternation. "How'd you know about that?"

Weiss sneered. "Oh come on! I'm his best friend; don't you think he tells me that sort of thing?"

"No."

"You're right; I guessed. So sue me!"

"If this were Los Angeles, I would."

"Well, it's a good thing that it's not, then." He reclaimed the plate and glass and held them out to her, his lower lip jutting out pitifully. "Food? Please?"

"God, you're pathetic," She gave in, taking the objects and motioning for him to take a seat at the table. "Sandwich okay? That can't explode or spontaneously combust. So how did you get in here?"

"Whoa! Random much?" He commented, flipping through the mail from the day before that was still on the table.

She slammed the refrigerator door closed and rolled her eyes. "Answer the question."

"I walked. And do you know how incredibly easy it is to pick your locks?"

"Are you kidding me? You broke into my house to persuade me to cook for you, even though I can't cook to save my life?"

"I'd say you've got the gist of it."

"I hate you so much."

"Hey Syd! I'm home!" A new voice joined their conversation as the front storm door banged shut. Vaughn's keys clattered onto the ledge and the sound of his shoes dropping to the floor was also audible. "We've got four hours; that's _at least_ eight rounds, a little less if you want to do some homework. Or actually take a shower. Or have the time to even breathe " The new arrival trailed off into silence as he saw Weiss seated at the kitchen table, head peeking over the top of Sydney's math book and shaking from suppressed laughter. "Hello," He said slowly, brow furrowing as his friend's eyes started to water. "Sydney _is_ here, right? I didn't just make a _complete_ fool of myself?"

"Oh yeah, you did," Syd replied, sliding a freshly made turkey sandwich and glass of lemonade in front of Eric before bounding over to Vaughn. "Hi honey. How was your day?"

Vaughn was still slightly befuddled. "How did he Why is he Huh?"

Syd struggled to suppress the urge to giggle shamelessly. "English, please?"

"Are you two having an affair? An extremely nasty, gross, and just plain _wrong_ affair?"

"Yeah, that's right," Weiss answered, his mouth spewing crumbs all over his friend's kitchen table. "Me and her, buddy. She's hot for my sexy body."

"'I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby,'" Syd quoted flatly, shifting her focus back to her boyfriend. "So Four hours, you say? Eight rounds with homework? It'll be a challenge, but I'm sure you can manage it. And now if you'll excuse us, Weiss, my boyfriend and I are going to have sex. A lot of sex. Don't let the door hit your full, lazy ass on the way out."

"Can I keep the sandwich?"

"Um, yeah!"

"See ya."

About four hours later, a very sore Sydney hobbled into the Bishop Gym for Activities Night, the night where all the freshmen and new transfer students would learn about the various clubs that were available. The only person who decidedly had a stake in coming was Sydney; but on the persistent insistence of her father, the other two student/agents were persuaded to attend as well. The three had discussed the previous day that they would pull a Wal-Mart: half of the time they would utilize comm. links and the other half they would have a "three-way". ("We really need to stop calling it that." "Only _you_ are perverted enough to think of it that way, Weiss.") In addition to her necklace, Sydney was also adorned in matching earrings, supplying a visual feed back to Base Camp (Jack's house), where her father, Marshall, and Dixon were going to counsel her on which activities she should choose.

She twisted the blue studs and fiddled with the familiar necklace to turn each of them on. The first sound she heard was her father reprimanding Marshall for apparently knocking something over. She ducked her head to disguise her laughter and gazed around the gym.

In contrast to earlier in the day, there were long lunch tables arranged in a square around the tall walls and bleachers. Blue signs peeked up over the heads of the parents and students milling around inside the pen. Clumps of people had formed at the bases of those signs, gathering leaflets as well as meeting the clubs' officers and administrative sponsors.

She started off with a station to her right, head angling upwards so that Base Camp knew where she was. When Syd was about to ask a question, a voice crackled in her earpiece. "Don't even bother; they meet after school on Fridays."

Masking her confusion, Syd instead thanked the boy who had paused in front of her. Walking away she whispered, "Weiss? Where are you? I can't see you."

A hand abruptly surged in and out of the air farther along the line of tables. "I'm holed up by the FBLA people. If I weren't such a jock, I'd think about joining. But then again Extra tests were never my thing."

"But they're Jane's," Sydney mused quietly, quickly jetting off from the first table. She bypassed the key club and math team, looked longingly at the science club, and found herself in front of the FBLA sign and plucking the flyer in front of its stalk. Skimming, she found it reasonably entertaining, and when Dixon's voice floated into her ear to tell her to go for it, she signed her name on the new member list. "So, where's Vaughn?" She asked when she was safely out of hearing range.

Weiss's tone was sopping with sarcasm. "What, you mean he's not wrapped around your little finger? Or glued to you in an inappropriate manner?" She blushed in spite of herself and he added, "I saw that."

"What? Where are you now?"

"Moving from French Club to Book Club."

Syd's heart almost burst with joy. She had never belonged to a real book club; the time was not available. But that had not stopped her for longing to join one, and this was her golden opportunity. "Score! Hook a sister up!"

A new, accented laugh barraged her eardrum as Vaughn joined their conversation. "You're a little too far gone, now, Syd. Teenage life has corrupted you already."

Weiss scoffed. "Like you care. Now she can talk dirty to you in bed."

"Eric! _Her dad is listening!_ And when her dad is Jack Bristow, it doesn't bode well for the boyfriend."

"And you seem to be the only one who cares."

"No, actually I do too," She pointed out softly, adding a French club paper to her file. "If my father suddenly decides he no longer has a use for him, I'll no longer have a boyfriend to be in bed with."

"Yeah you will," Weiss replied as if stating the obvious.

Sydney's sigh of exasperation was muffled by her chest as she signed the new member list for the French club as well. "How, Weiss?"

"Hel-lo! Me!"

"Get over yourself, Eric. You're as cute as you are smart."

"Oh, come on Syd! That was a double burn!"

"Exactly. It's two-for-one day here at Sydney's Burn Emporium. Now shut up so I can sign up for something without half of the kids around staring at me."

Syd ended up promising to join FBLA (Future Business Leaders of America; Tuesday mornings), French club (Wednesday mornings), Book club (Thursday after school), and considered Forensics (just for Anne). At first, Syd was confused; she had been ready for another science-related organization, but instead had been presented with a team on which one competed in speech giving and acting. It piqued her interest, but her father asked her to hold off until he thought about it; the CIA might not want one of their agents competing in a event against high schoolers in which they might actually win or make a difference in. Before she left the high school, she threw Vaughn a lasting look across the parking lot, appealing to him with her eyes to accompany her home. He silently refused, and Sydney resignedly drove home, ready to spend the next four hours or so on her homework. She secretly hoped that it would not be this way all the time when Jane Porter finally sunk her teeth into the extra-curricular scene.

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

* * *

**_

Remember, everything I write has a purpose.

**Chapter Eleven:** Good Ole Days  
**Chapter Twelve:** Any Given Friday

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please tell me what you think: even if you think it was total and complete horsy doo-doo.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	11. Good Ole Days

**Uh huh, it's still the same…**

**This Chapter:** LOTS o' fluff: pushy/yenta Anne, a trip to the mall, a subsequent bad run-in, the Street Dance and Good Ole Days, and a promise for the future.

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Drift Away" by Uncle Kracker, "The Remedy (I Won't Worry)" by Jason Mraz, and "She Loves Me Not" and "Anxiety" by Papa Roach

**Author's Note:** Enter Subplots #1 and #2…

* * *

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Eleven: Good Ole Days**

After that first week, Sydney thought things would get easier, or at the very least she would adapt. To say that she was terribly, horribly, dead wrong would be a gross understatement. While her extra-curricular activities began to stack up, her homework load only increased in its intensity: Marshall even ended up with three hours of math homework, which was eagerly thrust upon him by the student/agents. Sydney's heart went out to Weiss the most, because along with his "crap load" of homework, he had football practices every day until five, six, seven o'clock at night with games on Fridays (all of them had been away so far; he'd get home at about ten at night) and tape-watching on Saturday mornings. Vaughn she was not sure what the hell he was doing but she was positive it was something, because every day he would come to school looking more and more the worse for wear. Sydney was positive she did not look too hot, herself, despite her daily attempts to keep up with the fashion. In their third week of school, it was big gaudy belts with buckles the size of Montana; she had run out to Target (there were no Wal-Marts close enough for such a frivolous trip) the next minute after she heard two girls talking about them in the halls.

Three weeks into their mission, and she was about to kill herself with her piccolo. Actually, band was the only class that was halfway decent: it was predictable, most of her friends were in it, and there was no homework, just one measly little practice for two hours every Thursday night. Although her biweekly book club meetings would occasionally leave her with little time to do homework, by Thursday she was simply too far gone to care. Anne promised it would get better, that everyone felt overwhelmed at the beginning of the school year and senior year should not be an exception, that she _would_ adjust, and if not she and Michael could run off to France together and live off of his drug money. In the moment, it seemed like a good idea.

That Thursday during their after-hours band practice, Vaughn was incessantly throwing Sydney saucy glances from across the field, each one demanding the attention of the fellow piccolo players around her. This, of course, did not exclude Anne, who coupled each of Vaughn's gazes with a pointed glance of her own. During their one five-minute break, Vaughn and Sydney collapsed on the track against the chain-link fence covertly holding hands. (As crazy as it seemed, every time the two of them were together, the fact that she _had not_ told him that they could date simply slipped her mind.) The two of them only ever attempted clandestine public displays of affection when out of Weiss's presence; the jokes and innuendo would have been deafening.

But their slowly wandering hands darted back to their respective owner's laps as Anne danced over. The girl only rolled her eyes at Sydney before sitting down at the end of their outstretched legs. Taking Vaughn's drumsticks and silently beating them on the rubber surface she asked casually, "So, what are y'all doin' Saturday night?"

This was her gentle way of milking the truth about their relationship out of either of them and Sydney knew it. It had been asked every Thursday night and Friday morning for each of the three weeks of school, and each time the answer was the same. "Nothing. Why?" Sydney replied, supplying a half-grin to signify that she knew what her friend was doing.

Anne scooting closer and her eyes lighting up was not the expected response. "For once, that's a _good_ thing," She exclaimed, much to the surprise of Vaughn. He threw a sideways glance to his partner out of the corner of his eye before Anne had a chance to continue. "Good Ole Days is this weekend! And the Street Dance is Saturday night!" When this garnered a less than enthusiastic response, her face fell in disbelief. "It's the only event a year that is held in Sugarville that everyone goes to. Carnival rides, the Street Dance, Bed Races, the parade, good food, good beer. Well, so I'm told. My dad's in the Lion's Club, and they run the beer tent. I'm not even allowed in there."

"What is your point?" Vaughn drawled, his hand physically twitching with the loss of Sydney's. She let her hand drop to the rubber track and inch toward his thigh, locking eyes with Anne to distract her.

"You two are going to the Street Dance if I have to kidnap each of you separately and drag you there bound and gagged. And then, after the band marches in the parade Sunday morning, you're going to hang out _without_ Greg."

"But—!"

"No buts!"

Vaughn sighed, inching his own hand down in between their legs and brushing his fingers over Syd's. "What makes you think that we want to be set up?"

"You think I don't see that horrible case of twitchy fingers you both seem to have?"

Their hands shot apart.

"Do you actually believe that Greg will fade away quietly?"

Anne issued a prolonged moan as she fell back onto the track melodramatically. "You two are impossible! I give up!" The whistle blew and she bolted up, clutching her piccolo in her fist. She first pointed at Sydney then at Vaughn as she commanded, "You come over to my house Saturday at noon and we'll go shopping and get ready. And you meet us at the Lion's Club Beer Tent in front of Sugarville House at six forty-five. Be late and you'll get one hell of an ass-whoopin'." With that she breezed off to her position.

"Do you know what this means?" Sydney whispered as Vaughn helped her up.

He shrugged on his harness and then sighed in exasperation: he had forgotten to take his drumsticks up with him. "That we've been made, Anne's messing with our heads, and we better get out of here before a flock of angry piccolos carry us off?"

"No." She smiled slyly. "It means you get another chance to sleep over after we 'hook up' on the dance floor. Maybe cut some _moves_ that these kids are too young to even think about."

Vaughn could not respond because they had reached their spots, but she would bet her favourite pair of jeans that he was suddenly glad that he was carrying a snare drum in front of him.

* * *

"This has been a total disaster. I am so completely sorry." Anne threw her purse down onto the bench in exasperation. The two friends had been shopping in the mall for a little over two hours and found absolutely nothing. Anne was a thousand times more concerned than Sydney, and was beginning to nervously bite her thumbnail to relieve her stress. "I'm really not the person to be giving fashion advice. My knowledge doesn't go beyond 'no white after Labor Day,' and I'm pretty sure that's not a rule anymore. It doesn't help that I refuse to go into Abercrombie or Aeropostle, either, but if you want you can and I'll just wait outside."

"No, seriously, that's okay," Syd insisted, playing with the straw in her lemonade. "I don't have enough money to shop in there, anyways."

Anne just sighed and settled back farther onto the bench. They were currently taking a pit stop at the food court and were watching the fountains spit water up into the air, nibbling on soft pretzels and sipping lemonade. During their excursion they had bought a grand total of two things: a CD for Syd and a book for Anne. They had been to every non-boycotted clothing store in the mall and alighted upon nothing that either of them found particularly interesting. "The curse of living in the 'burbs," Anne had remarked, shrugging her shoulders lightly.

Her friend sighed heavily, finishing off her pretzel and throwing her napkin into the nearest garbage can. "I bet y'all had the best stores out in California," She said, bringing Syd out of her thoughts. "For what it's worth, we get to listen to Papa Roach. I didn't think you'd be into them." Syd shrugged, not really sure how to respond; she continued to twist her straw without purpose. Anne sipped at her own cup but squeezed it too hard and its lid popped off, sloshing the contents down the front of her shirt. Groaning, she leaned forward so the liquid would not drip onto her pants. She turned to her friend with a grimace and excused herself to go to the bathroom.

As Anne waddled away looking like drowned duck on crack, Syd mopped up what little liquid had splashed onto the floor with her extra napkins. When she leaned over to throw them away, a familiar voice suddenly stood out against the regular din. It was loud but slightly slurred, as if the speaker had something in her mouth and was trying to have a conversation around it. "And then Mr. Tressaut _laughed_. I almost fucking fainted right there in the middle of class. I'm willing to do fifty extra-credit essays just so that I can stay after class to talk about them."

It was a girl from her English class, but Syd could not quite remember her name. How could she forget the retainer-wearing, tangent-taking, faux redhead senior girl that liked to interrupt class with random stories that never pertained to anything remotely on-topic? Her antics were infamous school-wide, though the reactions they received were mixed; one either loved her or hated her, and a medium was as rare as a diamond the size of a school bus. Sydney was undecided, which was why she turned around with the girl spoke.

"Hey! You go to Glenfield, don't you? Jane, right?"

The tall girl was flanked by three other girls: one about her height, another as tall as Sydney herself, and yet another who had Anne's build but was an inch or so taller. The expressions on their faces and their posture instantly made the student/agent uncomfortable and somehow even ostracized, the combination of which caused Syd to shift her weight nervously from leg to leg and cross her arms over her stomach. Despite her unease, she smiled the smile she had previously reserved for Sloane. "Yeah. Jane Porter. I'm in your English class, I think. I — I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name."

An obviously fake grin turned the corners of the girl's lips up as her cronies sniggered behind her. "I'm Lara Andropov. And these are my friends Kerri Jones, Dana Hansen, and Charlotte Kohn." Dana was the taller girl, Charlotte was the poor imitation of Anne, and Kerri was the one left over.

The latter's face drooped like a bloodhound's, her round eyes slightly lazy and lips squished and pursed. She smiled grotesquely, revealing two rows of discoloured and misshapen teeth. "So, you're the new chick. You hang out with Anne, right?" Not waiting for Syd to respond she added, "I'm so sorry."

It was then that Sydney realized whom she was dealing with. Her discomfort turned to mild alarm as her eyes darted around, looking for the quickest possible escape route without seeming too obvious. Half of her brain screamed for her to just get the hell out of there without any tact whatsoever; the other half countered with the logic that she might have to call upon this acquaintanceship in the future.

That split second of indecision exploded into a much larger problem when Anne came traipsing back to her friend's side, the large outline of the lemonade spill still present on her shit. "Jane, I just remembered this book that I wanted to show you back at Walden's Oh, hey Lara, Kerri, Dana, Charlotte." She nodded to each in turn, an uneasy grin quickly growing steadier as she became more aware of the situation. "Crazy meeting you here, huh? So, what are y'all doin'?"

The four friends snickered at the girl's use of unusual slang. "You see, Anne," Dana replied, a lisp slipping through her fabricated Southern accent, "we was doin' this thing called shoppin'. Crazy notion, ain't it? And we just ran into your little friend, Jane, over here. Is that a-okay with you, or are ya gonna throw a hissy fit and storm out?"

Sydney could practically see the anger exploded inside Anne's chest, but was utterly shocked to find her eyes practically frosted over, and her tone was cooked to match. "Like I said, crazy meeting you here, 'cause I didn't think _y'all_ knew what a mall was." She grabbed her purse and threw a pointed look at Sydney. "And now we really gotta go. I've got this thing and Jane has a date—"

"With the druggie, we know," Charlotte remarked, breaking her silence. "And you've got a 'thing'? Amazing! It can't be with a guy, 'cause it's not like you've had a date in, oh, _ever_." Sarcasm had entered her voice, and it rang loud and clear above the conversations of other passersby. "And no, dancing with that pussy Andrew at every dance does not qualify as a date. If anything it makes you even sadder and more pathetic than before."

Sydney suddenly yearned for a glass of cold water to toss on the four witches in front of her. She only felt this way once before as a result of being slightly unpopular at her all-girl boarding high school. Knowing it was not her place to say anything to anyone at that point in time, she merely kept one eye trained on the group and the other on her friend, waiting for any indication as to what she was going to do next.

Only the expertly trained eye could have possibly caught sight of the searing, apoplectic tears of anguish and resentment welling Anne's eyes; they were present for only a second before they were forced by sheer will power back into their ducts. She had also taken up a fighting stance, glaring up at the four taller seniors with her shoulders squared and ready for anything. "As I said, we really must be leaving. I'll see you in class, Lara. Bye, ladies."

She began stalking away at such a clip that Syd had to almost jog to keep up. But before either person was beyond earshot the first voice called out after them. "Weight-lifting for softball starts soon. You can see Coach Clark for details."

Stopping dead in her tracks, Anne replied coldly without turning around, "You know I don't play anymore, Lara."

Syd could sense the smirk on the girl's face as she countered, "I know. Just figured I'd rub it in a bit before you ran off to do your 'thing'. Later, bitch."

* * *

"'_Cause if you've gots the poison, I've gots the remedy. The remedy is the experience; this is a dangerous liaison. I says that comedy is that it's serious; this is a strange enough new play on words. I said the tragedy is how you're gonna spend the rest of your nights with the light on, so shine the light on all of your friends, when it all amounts to nothing in the end. I__I won't worry my life away__'_" The two were singing at the tops of their lungs and purposely off-key to the music blaring out of Anne's CD player in her room. They originally had Syd's Papa Roach CD on, but both quickly decided that they needed something more lively, upbeat, and _happy_ than traditional rock/grunge/heavy metal. After minutes of intense scrutiny, Anne shoved in Jason Mraz (or "the Chicken Man" as she called him), and they began readying themselves for the Street Dance.

Subsequently after their run-in with the four fellow students, the friends decided against continuing to shop there and drove instead a half-hour away to another mall. There, they hastily picked up an outfit for Syd and another book for Anne, and then headed back to Anne's house. After a hasty introduction to her younger brother, Sean, the two trooped down into the basement and to Anne's room. At the present, they were dressed for the dance and were merely putting the finishing touches on their make-up and hair, singing along badly with said "Chicken Man".

"Are ya _sure_ y'all haven't hooked up yet?" Anne inquired for the zillionth time.

Syd rolled her eyes. "I think I'd know, Anne. I mean I am me, you know."

"Yeah," She conceded with a sigh, plopping down onto the corner of her unmade twin bed. "But everything about you two screams 'meant to be'. It's like the whole Romeo and Juliet thing, only without the feuding families, and people dying, and the whole star-crossed lovers deal. Huh," She mused. "I guess it's really nothing like Romeo and Juliet at all. Oh well. I tried."

'_It's more like it than you know,'_ Sydney thought, curling the last section of her hair before turning away from the mirror. "Whatever you say, Anne. For now, can we concentrate on getting ready? You said for Michael and Greg to meet us in ten minutes."

Her friend swore sharply and grabbed the cordless phone from underneath a pillow. She proceeded to call Weiss and remind him of the night's activities. He asked to speak with Sydney and she excused herself from the room, going straight through the garage and out onto the gravel driveway.

"What could you possibly want?" She demanded, scanning around with her hawk-like eyes for potential listeners.

Weiss laughed on the other side of the receiver. "Lemme guess: you haven't gotten any for a while, and you promised Mikey that you two would get together after his lame dance tonight?"

"What makes you think that?" She countered snidely.

Another knowing chuckle. "Just the fact that he and Marshall were supposed to come over tonight so that Marshall could tinker with my TV and hook me up with free cable. Then Mike calls and uses his 'I'm Getting Lucky Tonight' voice to say he's got other plans. And Anne calls immediately after and says to meet you guys at the beer tent When will the madness end?"

Syd's younger friend came bustling out of the garage, struggling to slip on a pair of chunky-heeled sandals and tapping her wrist at the same time. The former smiled and nodded before turning her back to put a quick end to her conversation. "It'll only end when you get your cable-stealing ass down to that beer tent within the next five minutes, or face the Wrath of Anne. And frankly, I don't think you want to find out what that entails."

"10-4, Bristow. ETA: twenty minutes."

"But I said five—" Sydney did not get to finish; Weiss had hung up. Sighing, she handed the phone back to a waiting Anne, who merely threw it onto her back porch before tossing Sydney her purse and began leading the way down the street. "We're walking?"

"It's not that far; only two blocks!"

"But I'm wearing _new_ sandals!"

"Aw, poor baby!" Anne remarked in mock condescension. "Didn't y'all have sidewalks out in California? Or did ya only drive your BMWs or your Jags every place you went? That how LA got all that pollution?"

Syd merely sighed and followed down the side of the street, her new sandals pinching the tops of her feet and biting at her toes.

Finally arriving at the entrance to the Lion's Club Beer Tent, they saw Vaughn and Weiss leaning against the temporary chain-link fence constructed to keep the small children out and the ones over twenty-one in. Vaughn was dressed better than usual: a pair of baggy _black_ jeans, matching black tank undershirt, and a black and white visor turned upside down and backwards so the bill stuck up from the back of his head. If Syd squinted hard enough, fifteen or so years melted away and he really was only a nineteen-year-old hanging out and hoping to grab an unattended beer. But one look at his bare, sculpted arms and her innards turned into her best attempt at gravy: lumpy, but having an overall Jell-o-like quality. She knew she was blushing and made a feeble attempt at hiding it by casually flicking the hair out from behind her ears.

Weiss, on the other hand, just looked strange. His Cubs jersey was shrugged on over a blue-sleeved baseball-style shirt (despite the eighty-plus degree temperature), and his khaki board shorts practically met his knee-high stirrup socks. Those damned sandals and a poor imitation of Vaughn's visor trick (turned to the side instead) completed his horrible ensemble.

Anne scratched her head and pinched the bridge of her nose as she apparently struggled to find the right words to direct to the latter. "Who dressed you, a pink elephant on crack? Marilyn Manson could have done better _in the dark_."

He recoiled melodramatically. "Ouch. That hurt. I was actually going for the crazy, thrown-together, oh-gosh-isn't-that-guy-crazy-but-damn-he's-hot look. Mission accomplished?" Sydney and Anne simply guffawed into their hands as he crossed his arms sturdily over his broad chest. "You know, I don't have to take this kind of abuse. I could always walk in there and pay some drunk bums to be my friends."

"Good luck with that," Anne replied between gasps of laughter.

Vaughn's gaze remained glued on Syd until the girls giggled themselves into silence. Her own orbs were attracted to his as opposite ends of two magnets. As Anne's own laughter died in her throat, she grabbed Weiss's arm at the elbow and began dragging him around the corner of the strip mall. "Look, Greg wants to try and beat me at some stupid game, so we'll catch up with you later. The dance starts in about ten minutes, and it's in the parking lot across the street to Jane's left. See ya!"

As he was pulled around the corner and out of sight, Weiss winked at his friends and blew Sydney a kiss.

Sighing, Syd folded her arms over her stomach and began toeing a small stone, suddenly finding the ground immensely interesting. She was unexpectedly at a loss for words, and the silence was pressing down upon her chest like the weight of the world. He felt it, too, she just knew it. Her gaze was only pulled up when a heavily accented voice pronounced, "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

Her eyes reflected the waning light as he snaked his arm around her slim waist, possessively curling his fingers about her middle. She led him through the parking lot with her own arm draped about his torso, across the street — which was barely large enough to be classified as such — and through a large group of milling teens, some much younger than even their covers. Syd suddenly felt odd, out of place, and exceptionally _old_. As if sensing what she was thinking, her counterpart squeezed her closer to him and nodded towards the back of the parking lot, to the far right of the deserted DJ booth. In the far back it was as dark as one could hope for; it was out of the majority of the glare from the orange street lamps that lined the platform of the train tracks at the opposite end across from the booth. The DJ's light show promised to be mediocre at best; Vaughn had allayed her unspoken fears with only the inclination of his head. Tightening her grip, they made their way over.

The teens began trickling in as Vaughn's watch beeped the hour, and meaningless DJ prattle began to fill the air before he played his first record of the night. Despite their copious numbers, they all seemed to stay away form the little corner, abiding by an undeclared rule to respect the couple's privacy. Each agent was purely content to stay wrapped in the world constructed by the night, even content to ignore the harsh, pounding music that coursed from the speakers and made the pavement pound. In their reality, the music was but a mere whisper, blowing past each of them on the light wind practically unnoticed. To Sydney, the only vibrations were being sent out by his hand on her shoulder, idly rubbing her bare skin in an attempt to warm it. The air had lost almost all of its warmth as soon as they sun disappeared, and a cool draft had taken over. To an observant passerby, the two would have appeared to belong with the chaperones stationed only at the exit and along the lighted train platform's edge; no one would have placed them with the throbbing, sweaty, laughing, and talking crowd of prepubescents and adolescents.

The only reason they made any move to mingle was that Sydney saw Anne and Weiss pushing their way over to the vacant corner. Quickly, the two threw themselves into the crowd, imitating the moves preformed by the others around them.

"Where have you been?" Syd yelled over the music as the two approached them.

Anne smiled and jumped up and down giddily. "I won! I-won-I-won-I-won-I-won-I-won!" She announced in one breath. "I beat Greg at one of those games that you have to shoot water at the target! I got a glow-stick!" She proudly held up the six-inch-long luminescent rod proudly.

Weiss rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I let her win. And besides, she cheated: she smashed my foot right as we started. You play dirty, woman, and not the good kind."

"You think that was dirty?" She scoffed in response. "You should see me play air hockey. I have a mean backhand." Just then the song changed, and her face lit up, positively shedding light into the corner. "Come on! This is the best song ever! _Please_ tell me y'all know how to do the electric slide!"

'_Finally! Something that's at least a little bit familiar! God, I feel old.'_ Syd nodded vigorously and dragged both agents to the front of the crowd to show the children how to really dance.

* * *

"I'm worried about Weiss."

"Why? What about? He's a big boy; he can take care of himself."

"It's just well, he and Anne are getting really close and it shouldn't be happening. Besides it being totally illegal I don't want her to get hurt. She doesn't deserve it. We don't know when we could be leaving, and I don't want them to be ripped apart with no explanation other than whatever CIA mumbo-jumbo we're ordered to give her."

"Eric might be many things, but cruel and heartless are not two of them. He won't get into anything without knowing how to deal with it."

"That's just the problem! We _don't_ know how to handle Anne! She's random and unpredictable and very, very pushy — in that subtle kind of way. What's worse is that if they were the same age, they'd go together better than peanut butter and jelly. I don't want either of them scarred for life because of this stupid mission."

"You know, you are the best friend that anyone could ever ask for. You care so much for everyone. How the hell do you do it?"

Syd shrugged. She and Vaughn had excused themselves from the dance about an hour before its completion and had roamed down the street, gawking at rides and cheap carnival games. Syd had toted a half-empty cup of lemonade and a small Winnie-the-Pooh stuffed animal that Vaughn won for her at a ring toss game. Conversation had been limited as they had been in the company of others, but Syd had quickly spotted a small plot that was designated as a park, and she steered them down the concrete path. In its centre was a gazebo, and they sat on its cement steps, gazing up at the slightly overcast sky, struggling to discern stars from the brilliance of the lamps along the walkway. This was when the Weiss/Anne conversation was sparked, but upon Vaughn's comment, Sydney had buried her head in his chest and did not reply.

Now she extricated her head and leaned it on his shoulder instead. "Promise me something," She murmured abruptly, tearing her eyes from the heavens and settling them on him.

He did the same. "Anything."

"Promise me that when we grow up—" A small smile from both "—and we get married, we'll move to somewhere like Sugarville, live in a house like mine, and have friends like Anne and Weiss."

Vaughn drew in a breath and exhaled slowly. His arm left her shoulders and snaked around her own appendage, his fingers entwining themselves with hers. "I promise. Hey, I'll even do you one better: we'll populate a town the size Sugarville, just the two of us."

"Only if _you_ have them all. 'Cause I'm sure as hell not going to give birth to all those kids."

"I don't think that's possible, Syd. I don't want to pull a 'Junior'."

"Well, you should have thought about that before you wanted to populate a town of six thousand people. No one can procreate that fast."

"Speaking of procreate "

"You have a one-track mind, you know that, right?"

"Well, duh. I'm a guy, aren't I?"

"My car's at Anne's house. We can walk it from here."

"Running's faster. Let's go."

_**TBC . . .**_

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Again with the "everything having a purpose" stuff…

**Chapter Twelve:** Any Given Friday  
**Chapter Thirteen:** So Much For On Time…

These chapters are getting ridiculously long (would you believe that I'm almost through an entire 200-page notebook already?), but I doubt that any of you care. Anyways, hope you enjoyed! As always, constructive criticism is welcomed! I _crave_ it!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	12. Any Given Friday

**Same stuffage…**

**Chapter Genre:** And we're back on angsty humour…

**This Chapter:** Whores run rampant, a Syd/Weiss confrontation, more 'quotes', the First Football Game, some touchy-feely action, and the plot(s) thicken.

**Suggested Soundtrack:** pick out some angsty stuff. Or music from the opera _Carmen_, "Oops! I Did It Again" by Britney Spears, "Land of 1000 Dances" (because it's the Second School Song), "Still-Frame" by Trapt, and "What's My Age Again?" by Blink 182 just for the hell of it.

**Author's Note:** Props to BubbleGirl47 for a bit of the dialogue near the end. I tweaked it a little, but not much. Oh, and the plot thickens…well, two of them anyway…**Chapter Thirteen: So Much For On Time…; Chapter Fourteen: The EWE Party**

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**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter 12: Any Given Friday**

"Come on, color guard! Get with it! Give it some energy! _Smile!_ You're whores and you enjoy being them, damn it!" Laughter was stifled, but it still echoed throughout the vast rafters of the field house. "Shut up!" Mr. Guter yelled from the orange golf cart patrolling the front of the gym. "Malissa!" And Head Drum Major Malissa Kinils took over, calling the band back to attention at the beginning of the third number.

Yet another week had almost seen its end, and their first month at school had been boxed up and sent to the history book writers. Sydney could feel herself slowly shedding years as she morphed into a teenager; on the other hand, the generation gap seemed to widen to interminable lengths, and she felt as old as ever. _'Twenty-eight is __**not**__ old at all!'_ She kept reminding herself whenever she could sense the wrinkles forming and body parts suddenly took on extra gravity. Most of the time, though, all she needed to remind her of her priorities was Vaughn's eyes on her; then she would remember that she _wanted_ to be twenty-eight because that was closer to _his_ age

She was called back to reality by a sharp poke in the back. Sophia Lake had paused in her precious playing to remind Syd that she was off step again. Syd merely stuck out her tongue over her shoulder and continued to shuffle along on the rubber cement floor. The harsh, pellet-like rain clattering on the high roof kept the band indoors, forcing them to march in the non-air conditioned field house. The vast sports centre was not built with good acoustics in mind, making trying to find the beat like happening upon a snowball in the Amazon: it just was not possible. Everywhere students were hot, tired, and frustrated: the doors open to the outside rain only added to their discomfort, letting the humidity layer upon their skin. All in all, Sydney was ready and waiting for Friday and three-o-five, at which time she would be able to talk freely with Vaughn, Weiss, her father, Marshall, and Dixon.

"_Left,_ right, _left_, right! Keep up, colour guard! Remember: whores and loving it!" Mr. Guter's comments made much more sense than they appeared to out of context: since the halftime show was "Carmen", the colour guard was portraying the famous prostitute. Therefore, the guard was technically whores. For the third time that night, everyone came in at the wrong time after the drum solo. The director stopped his cart from pacing and grunted into his megaphone. "Break. Be back here in ten. And if I have to go looking for you, it'll be hell to pay."

"More like he'll sit on us," Jason Bennet muttered under his breath, which was amplified so that it was practically a shout. While Guter struggled to free his round belly from the steering wheel people scattered. Some gathered at the doors, eagerly stepping outside out into the cool rain and gusting wind. Others went deeper into the school and gravitated towards any water fountain that worked. Syd waited for Vaughn to set his harness down near the wall, and together they strolled down the Entrance C hallway towards the pool; she had seen Anne walk down that way and wanted to catch up to her friend.

They pushed open the fire doors soundlessly and were rewarded with interrupting a private moment. On a cement bench in front of the doors to the pool sat Anne and Weiss, hands resting dangerously close to one another as they smiled at each other, Anne's a bit more shy and innocent than her counterpart's. Sydney grabbed Vaughn's arm at the elbow and pulled him back towards the doors and behind the half-wall so they were hidden. His mouth was half open in reserved shock; she was almost positive that her own jaw was slightly slackened as well. Her suspicions had been confirmed, and now they needed to stop this before anything became of it. She opened her mouth to say an I-told-you-so to her boyfriend, but the doors behind them banged open suddenly, and a flurry of activity burst forth. Their "group" was flooding towards the vending machines near the pool locker rooms and Entrance E: Mike Holcomb, Henry Rudolph, both Katie/Caty, Ruth Anders, Summer Assaf, both Johns, Joe Hall, and Tobi Morrison. This gave them the perfect opportunity to avoid an awkward scene; they blended in, Sydney chatting with Katie Goode and Vaughn with Henry.

When they came around the half-wall, Weiss was standing and leaning against the cinder blocks about five feet away from the still-sitting Anne. Everyone greeted everyone else amicably, especially Weiss — he was not required to be there, which usually translated to he _was not_ there. Only Sydney and Vaughn suspected why he had made a sudden exception. She stared at him until he finally flicked his eyes at her as they all settled to the slab or onto the floor. Quickly she mouthed one word with her lips stretched thin: 'Talk.' He nodded once and turned back to the group at large.

"I sure hope it doesn't keep up like this," Summer was saying, looking out the doors of Entrance E from her seat on the floor. "Or you know what's going to happen tomorrow night."

"What's tomorrow?" Syd inquired, confused.

"Only the first football game of the season!" Katie exclaimed.

"Hey, remember sophomore year?" Anne asked, sitting forward in her seat.

The rest of the seniors groaned at the shared memory; Caty voiced it for the new student/agents. "It was the day before we were supposed to go down to U of I for Band Day, and it was drizzling. _Drizzling_: not even raining. Guter has the parents pull out about ten boxes of clear ponchos and says, 'Don't put on your uniforms; wear the ponchos.' We looked like freakin' ghosts."

"Freshman year was just as bad, remember?" Tobi reminisced.

Another groan from the real students. "That was horrible!" Ruth grumbled. "The last football game of the season and it was actually _raining_. But this time Guter allows us our uniforms and we have to actually march the show. Let's just say that lateral movements and the World's Largest Mud Pit don't make for happy people. Who lost their shoe, again?"

"That would be me," Henry spoke up, raising his hand sadistically.

While her friends' exchange would have been amusing to no end any other time, now Syd just found it annoying. She had the burning need to chew Weiss out for even thinking about pursuing anything with her newfound friend. Her gaze was fixed on him, and from time to time, he glanced over at her nervously, trying to catch his best friend's eye as well. _'He's probably going to try to get Vaughn on his side,'_ She though maliciously. _'Like that's going to happen! I'm his girlfriend! Vaughn won't take his best friend's side if it means a possible decrease in sexual activity.'_

All too soon, they were summoned back to the stuffy fieldhouse by Dani Allen, quickly dashing in and out the fire doors with a hasty word of warning.

On their way back, Sydney made sure that she separated Weiss and Anne. He walked in between her and Vaughn, striding a safe distance behind the majority of the group. "What the hell are you doing here?" She asked in a clipped tone.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing to do. Practice was cancelled, I got Marshall doing my math, and the rest of my homework I copy from people before school." Syd opened her mouth to contradict him, but he jabbed a thumb towards the throngs of teenagers milling just outside the doors to the field house, indicating caution should be taken. "The outdoor ramp to Lincoln after practice. I'll talk, I swear." With that, he left them and backtracked towards said ramp.

Syd found it very difficult to concentrate for the last hour of practice, but no more so that the rest of the students. The rain had not let up in the slightest, only worsening the acoustics problem and causing the people who had run out in it to drip puddles on the floor. (When one of the freshmen slipped, it had spurred about five minutes of straight laughter.) After various attempts at obtaining and maintaining their attention span for more than two seconds, the director ended practice ten minutes early. But before he said the final words, he took his time in reminding them about the game the next night, and that he was _requiring_ them to wear their band shirts to school the next day. More than one person grumbled obscenities as they slogged up to the band room, but Sydney pushed and prodded her way through the crowd in a hurry, leaving both a perturbed Anne and a sluggish Vaughn in her dust.

She was in an angry haze as she haphazardly threw her piccolo into its case and then into the first closet, grabbed her purse, and was at the foot of the drum line stairs before the first percussionist or low brass player had even made it to the door. As she squeezed her way through shiny brass, plastic, and bodies, somehow she managed to single Vaughn out and pinched him sharply. Giving a start, he whirled around only to see her retreating back disappear around a corner. She hoped he got her message: hurry up.

Sydney suddenly found herself at the doorway to the enclosed ramp. She could see the slouching form of Weiss through the window of the door, leaning against the wooden wall with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. Inhaling deeply, she pushed the metal open and crossed to him, her shoes clacking on the old lumber. He looked up quickly, his eyes void of their usual impish gleam; in its place was a dull gloss like hardened grease. She locked eyes with him for a moment, willing him to understand that what she was about to say was only with his best interests at heart.

"This can't go on."

"What can't go on? Nothing is going on, Syd!" Weiss exclaimed in exasperation, beginning to pace the width of the walkway. "Anne is a friend, one of the best I've had besides you and Vaughn. Can't I be allowed that?"

"Yes, of course, Eric. But I can see it," She replied, almost pleading with him. "She's falling for you. _Hard._ This girl doesn't need any more crap in her life—"

"Oh, so you're saying I'm crap?"

"NO!" She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck as she thought of a way to voice her thoughts. "She doesn't need the added stress of losing a best friend _and_ a boyfriend when we have to pull up stakes. Remember how upset she was over Andrew?"

"They'd been friends for thirteen years! We haven't even been friends for thirteen weeks. The key word being _friend_, Bristow. Nothing is going on between us besides witty banter and playful sexual innuendo."

"I don't think so, Eric. If you could only see the way she looks at you behind your back "

"This is none of your business!" He snapped, his tone escalating suddenly from defensive to offensive. "Why do you care, anyway? Has she even told you what she feels about me? No? Well, that's what I thought. Your accusations have absolutely no foundation. You should be happy for us if we _were_ going out — which we're not. And give me one good reason that we shouldn't. Because we're not _allowed_? Because it's _against the rules?_ Can we say 'the pot calling the kettle black'?"

"You don't get it. You _really_ don't get it," Syd mused, shaking her head and staring in wonder at her fellow agent. "She _likes_ you. And I don't want to see her hurt."

"No, _you_ don't get, Sydney," He replied. He stopped pacing and faced her, gazing at her with the detached surprise of a person who has just had an epiphany. "You're jealous."

"What?" Her voice was saturated in suppressed rage, just waiting for a sharp pin to puncture the skin that contained it.

"You heard me," Eric answered, his voice taking on a malicious edge that she had never heard from him before. "You're jealous. Because despite the age thing, despite your opposition we could still date if we wanted to. Nothing — no unwritten rules forbidding different cliques dating — could stand in the way. And you're _jealous_ because you and Mike can't have that."

The silence that fell in between them was tangible, flowing about them and crashing upon the walls like the wave of a tsunami. Everything else fell away: all that remained was the red-hot anger that had congealed itself into a shapeless matter in the back of her throat. She subconsciously straightened her spine so that she stood at her full height. Her face washed clean; the only features giving any clue to what she was feeling were her livid eyes and the thin line of her lips. When she spoke her words were callous enough to create a snowstorm in Jamaica. _"That was out of line."_

Weiss sighed in frustration, extracting a hand out of his pocket to pinch the bridge of his nose and rub at his tired eyes. "I know it was, and I'm sorry. It's just that it's — I can handle it, Syd. You gotta trust me when I say that I don't want to hurt anyone in this, least of all Anne. Just trust that I can keep it under control."

She stared into his eyes long and hard, searching for any hint that he was insincere or mocking her. And she did not find either of them. Crossing her arms firmly over her chest and squaring her shoulders, she progressed toward him until he was backed against the wooden wall of the enclosure. "I never thought I'd be giving _you_ this speech," She mused, never wavering in her eye contact, "but I'll tell you what I told Vaughn: if you lie to me and betray my trust, it will be a problem. In other words: if you break her heart, I'll break you."

He nodded slowly, a hint of fear creeping over his eyes followed quickly by the usual glint. "Sounds fair. As long as you don't share anything else you tell Vaughn — especially anything said within a mile of the bedroom. 'Cause I just don't want to know that stuff."

A semblance of a normal Sydney smile tugged at the corner of her mouth, and her dimples made shallow indents in her cheeks. "Gotcha Weiss. And thanks. I didn't mean to spaz on you there; just looking out for a friend."

"If you protect me half as heroically as you do Anne, I have a feeling that we'll be friends for life. Which will come in handy when you marry Mike and need help baby-sitting the brat." And both of them were back into familiar territory; the tension and ill will escaped into the stormy atmosphere between both the roof and the floor. "By the way, nice slang usage. You're getting better all the time. Now all we need to do is teach Mike a lesson or two so he can 'take names' properly and not be such a 'whacked-out cracker' with his 'homies'."

"I'll pay you a million dollars to never say that again." Vaughn had joined them on the cool ramp, letting the door slowly close behind him with a dull thud. He smiled widely at both of them and asked, "So, what did I miss?"

Weiss cackled evilly. "Just us having hot, passionate monkey sex right where you're standing. You might want to check for splinters, Syd." Both groaned in disgust; she went one step further and flipped him off. "And that's my cue to exit. I'm parked in the front by Entrance F. I'll see you guys tomorrow." With that, he waved good-bye and disappeared through the double doors to the school.

Vaughn gave his girlfriend a Look, and she just shrugged in response. Deciding to be brazen, Syd reached over and linked fingers with his, grinning happily into his face as she lead him out the same pair of doors and back inside. "So," He started, gazing at her out of the corner of his eye, "did you work things out with Band Geek?"

"Yep," She answered, contentedly remembering Weiss's promise.

"And how did you get him to do whatever you got him to do?"

Shrugging nonchalantly she simply stated, "By threatening his life."

"Oh." Vaughn nodded placidly. "Nice job. But I would have gone the permanent inability to have children route."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Did you know he wants to have a big family? Like eight kids or something."

"Oh no. You mean there'll be little male and _female_ Weisses running around with his sick sense of humour someday?"

"Yes. Scary world, isn't it?"

"I'm moving to Mars. And if you value your sanity, you'll come with."

"Way ahead of you, baby."

* * *

"I got a whore on my back."

"Really? So do I! Crazy!"

"But mine's better than yours."

"Nuh-uh."

"Uh-huh! Wanna bet?"

"Guys, it's just a shirt! Calm down and get changed!" Syd had been hearing conversations of this nature all day that Friday; their band shirts had the misfortune of having the lovely prostitute herself clad in a red dress and brandishing a tambourine square in the middle of the back. She thought the joke juvenile but clever the first time, and it just went downhill after that. Every time she saw an underclassmen band member heading towards her, she would duck away into a bathroom or down another hallway to avoid the increasingly lame gag.

But now there was no escape. She was in the band room getting ready for her first football game _ever_. (Going to an all-girl high school disallowed many 'manly' sports, and she never had occasion to see one in college.) Everywhere she looked there were students in various states of dress, ranging from street clothes to clad in the painter's paints to full uniform. Completely dressed and sweating like it was band camp all over again, she was struggling to velcro her gauntlets around her wrists and keep her hat straight at the same time. It was not working. She sighed in frustration as the confounded contraption slid to the side and down over her eyes, the plume threatening to poke out anyone's eye who happened to cross too close. Swearing sharply, she reflected on the irony of her predicament. This time she was complaining about putting on too _many_ clothes during a mission instead of too _few_. Finally successfully clasping her left gauntlet around her wrist and forearm, she sighed and glared down at the other white strip of material with malice.

But before she could begin wrestling with it, a hand grabbed it off of the top of her hatbox. Sydney looked up into the smiling face of Vaughn, and instantaneously felt the need to convulse on the floor in laughter. The tall straight-legged and creased pants, short hem of the jacket, tall hat, white plume, and shoulder pads combined to make him easily one of the most comical sights she had ever laid eyes on. The drum line did not wear gauntlets or gloves, so the sleeves of the navy blue jacket rode up on his arms, exposing three-inch sections of forearm and his tanned wrists. That last sight caused a sudden urge to lick her lips, but it was checked just in time. Instead she began laughing.

"What?" He asked innocently. "You know, you don't look so hot yourself."

"Oh really?" She replied, biting her lip to keep the giggles from escaping again. "Is that right?"

"No. I lied. You're hot all the time."

"Oh, that was so eloquent, _Monsieur Michel_. Take me now."

"Sarcastic?"

"Yeah. Just a little bit."

"Damn."

"Am I interrupting something?" Anne had abruptly appeared behind them, and Syd was suddenly grateful that he had spoken in his sexy Frenchman accent and she had not used his last name. Both student/agents shook their heads innocuously, Vaughn handing Syd's gauntlet back over to its owner. "Good. Because I need to steal Jane away for a minute. Amuse yourself, Michael." Tugging on her friend's sleeve, the two exited the room, slipped down the music corridor, and out into the open hallway.

"What's up?" Syd asked nonchalantly, deciding to go back to struggling with her right gauntlet.

Giving an exasperated sigh Anne reached over, wrapped the material around Syd's arm, and fastened it in one try. "A bunch of us are goin' to Colonial after the game. You wanna come?"

Straightening her hat begrudgingly she inquired, "What's Colonial?"

Anne fiddled with her friend's hat until it was straight. "Colonial Café. It's a restaurant in St. Charles that everyone goes to after every football game; it's a tradition. They must make half their income off of us. The only reason we go there is their Kitchen Sink. Other than that, there's nothing spectacular about them. And if you're worried about Greg and Michael, I've already invited them, but Michael will only go if you go. Isn't that so sweet?"

"If by sweet you mean amazingly adorable with a side of hotness, then yes." Syd smiled and nodded her consent as she added, "Yeah, count me in. I'll be there."

"Great! Now I'll just run along and let you two get back to whatever it was you were doing." Anne wiggled her eyebrows suggestively as she went back into the music department and turned right into the chorus room, where the colour guard was getting "whore-ified".

Syd went back into the band room, tightening her chin strap so that it practically cut off her circulation. Out of nowhere two larger hands covered hers. "I'll help you with that," Vaughn's unaccented voice whispered in her ear, his hot breath tickling as well as exciting. She smiled and tucked an errant strand of hair back up under her hat. Guiding her fingers with his, he helped her chin strap find a more suitable — not _comfortable_ but suitable — position. Bending his head around her neck, he placed a small kiss behind her ear and murmured, "She got you, too, didn't she?"

Somewhere in the back of her head, a voice was screaming at her to tell him to cease and desist; but another voice farther down told her to find an abandoned classroom somewhere and forget about the football game. She settled for a compromise and ignored both. "Colonial? Yeah. Guess we'll be getting home a little later than expected."

"All the better to spend more time with you, my dear," He growled, his harness preventing him from pressing his body flush against hers.

There was something in his tone that made her hesitate, an inflection that caused her to think that there was something that he wasn't telling her. Stepping away to get her piccolo out of its case she whispered, _"Dite-moi. Maintenant."_

He sighed, squatting down to retrieve his snare from under the computer desk in front of the clock. _"C'est pas rien."_

"Don't tell me it's nothing!" She hissed, her eyes constantly darting about to check for listeners. "What are you planning?"

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Vaughn hoisted his drum onto the harness, and Syd pretended to help him secure it. "Look, during the third quarter we get to do whatever we want. I'm planning to spend a few minutes making out with my incredibly sexy girlfriend—" She remained unmoved "—and then I have to hook up with the _Negro/Azuls_ after that."

He was watching closely for her reaction, but all she did was tilt her head to the side, an almost imperceptible action with her hat. "Did my father ask you to? Or is this of your own free will?"

"After you left the debrief this afternoon, I asked your father about it. So it was my idea, but he endorsed it. I need to establish myself as a more prominent gang member among the student population."

"But you can't!" She protested quietly, 'accidentally' getting her glove caught on a screw on his harness. "You have no back-up, no means to protect yourself if you get compromised ! No way; it's too dangerous."

"Syd, I've done worse," He reminded her gently, freeing her glove and grasping her hand tightly in his. "This is why I didn't want to tell you in the first place: I knew you'd get all worked up over _nothing_." Vaughn stressed the last word, drawing it out like he was stretching taffy. She looked away and bit her lip. He tilted his head so that they were nose to nose and eye to eye. "Nothing is going to happen. I swear on the lives of our six thousand children."

"You know, ninety-nine-point-nine percent of those kids will never exist."

"Says you." After allowing that little twinge of silliness, Vaughn grew serious again, and he gathered his drumsticks from the computer table. "Nothing is going to happen, so just calm down and enjoy your first live football game." Smiling down at her reassuringly, he squeezed her hand one final time, and she nodded solemnly as Mr. Guter finally pushed his way to his director's stand and waved his hand for silence.

"Line up downstairs. We leave in five." With that there was a mad dash for the doors. Sydney grabbed onto Vaughn's shoulders and used him as a battering ram. Most of the girls quickly got out of the way of their own accord.

As she marched through the gates and onto the track, Syd got a rush of energy that she only received when she was about to step off on a mission. _'Adrenaline,'_ She reminded herself when they came to a stop and lined up on the sideline for pre-game. _'Every time anyone performs it's probably the same thing.'_ Despite her abnormal attire and strange surroundings, she fed off of the energy; if these people wanted a show, then they would see the best damn halftime marching band extravaganza that this school had ever seen.

The football players darted off the field under the lights after their warm-up and dodged between the lines of musicians as they marched onto the field. Syd caught a glimpse of Weiss as he jogged off the soggy turf, helmet in hand, his shoulders up to his ears because of the pads. He locked eyes with someone farther down her line, and without being conspicuous, she leaned back on the heels of her shoes to see who it was: Anne. Of course. But instead of anger bubbling up from her stomach, relief spread over her body; Anne was still staring straight ahead into the thunderous stands, awaiting a horns up. As they received it, a faint and faraway whisper instead of the familiar screech, Syd calmed her nerves abut Anne and Weiss — about Vaughn and his gang — and prepared herself for an entertaining night.

* * *

"Can you believe we're down twenty-one to three just at half-time?"

"Yeah. I mean, usually it's worse."

Syd blinked in surprise but remained silent. Pre-game had gone smoothly, and after they had been allowed to take off their hats in the stands, the first two quarters had been downright enjoyable. Halftime went "better than expected" according to Guter and Syd was glowing with both sweat and pride. (She quickly found that wool uniforms and plastic hats do not breathe, no matter how much one would want them to.) After they had been dismissed for the third quarter, she and all the rest of the musicians had trampled up the metal stairs of the stands, deposited their hats, gloves, gauntlets, and instruments, and charged the Band Boosters' refreshment table.

Vaughn had surfaced from the fray in the stands first (the drum line was in the first row while Syd's precious piccolos were fourth from the top), and had grabbed a can of Sprite and a package of Twinkies for them to share. She soon saw him leaning against a light-pole behind the large, crowded table and made a beeline for him, dodging arms, legs, and entire bodies of freshmen. Upon her arrival, he offered the opened can and a Twinkie in his outstretched hands. She merely flung each of them to the ground, liquid flying up into the air and splashing on their legs, and she secured his wrist in a tight grip.

"Where do you have to meet them?" Her voice was low and she absentmindedly gave it an edge of desire.

"The gates to the far right of the visitors' stands. Why?"

"Behind the concession stand. Now."

Vaughn did not argue. He allowed her to drag him the full length of the football field, through the crowd milling at the fence around the track, to the building that housed both the concession stand and the bathrooms. The back wall was completely shrouded in shadow, and a set of rickety portable metal stairs blocked them from the view of the stands.

Then he took over. Pressing her against the cinder blocks, he grasped her chin and tilted her up to his lips. Hands began to roam; her fingers were in a frenzy; it seemed as if they had no idea where to go first. Originally, they gravitated towards the short, sweaty hairs on the back of his neck. The strands slipped easily between her nimble fingers as she drew circles on his scalp with her nails. He shivered slightly, and she smiled against his lips. Raking her nails over and across the sensitive skin prompted a low guttural moan to vibrate in their connected mouths. This induced more trailing and more moaning.

While his hands explored every contour of her face on the outside, his tongue delved into her mouth. Their tongues twined, untwined, and re-twined, dancing and singing at the same time. He seemed to suck the very breath from her lungs as his mouth repeatedly clamped down over hers: if she was not careful, he would suffocate her. But then again, whenever he walked into a room, she was in danger of asphyxiation.

"Mmm," Vaughn purred, breaking the kiss with extreme reluctance. Sydney remained poised with her eyes closed, almost frozen in time. She frowned as her lids fluttered open and took in the sight of an impishly grinning boyfriend. "How's _that_ for making out?"

All she could do was whimper from the loss of his lips on hers.

"Well," He stalled, glancing around the stairs to the scoreboard on the other side of the field and dropping his hands. "I'd better be going. I'll catch up with you after the game, okay?"

She merely nodded in reply, and he began slinking off down the pavement walkway towards the gates. Straightening and re-buttoning her jacket (which had mysteriously been torn open during their moment), she began heading back towards the home stands, saying a casual hello to people she recognized from her classes. Somehow she managed to find Anne, who was attempting to hack 'illegally' with Henry, both Johns, Caty Wagner, and another guy named Tom Link. Her friend convinced her to try out the game, and soon she was 'killing it' like the rest of them. Extremely pleased with her newfound 'hacking skills', she was sad to see the third period wind to a close. As she joined the mass of navy blue that was staggering to the same spot in the home stands, Syd thought she heard a familiar voice and wedged her way to the fence so she could stop and listen.

"Michael is _so_ hot!" It was as if the speaker was talking around something, but she could not place the voice.

Another acquainted voice answered, "I know! I heard he came here from France because he was always in trouble over there. With the _law_." Sighs and giggles could be heard.

"But did you see him looking at that Jane girl? Do you think there's something going on with them?" This voice did not send up a red flag like the other two, but it was somewhat recognizable; again, she was unable to put a name to it. Syd pretended to watch the game as she continued to listen.

"Jane?" A lisped voice questioned incredulously. "I don't think so. Jackie said Peggy said Jenny said that Jane had to translate for him on the first day or something, but that's all."

"Wait! Didn't you hear?" The second girl interrupted. Syd could imagine all the girls leaning closer and looking at her in anticipation.

"What? Spill!"

"Katie said that Paula said that Val said that Charlotte saw him making out with some girl behind the concession stand at the beginning of the third period or whatever it is in football. She said she looked a _lot_ like Jane " The inflection at the end of her sentence made Sydney freeze. They had been caught! What would this do to both of their credibility? She mentally beat herself over the head with her piccolo for letting her hormones get the better of her. At the same time, she marveled at the well-structured grapevine the girls obviously had set up at this school. She had forgotten that juicy gossip traveled faster than the speed of light.

"No way!" The lisped voice continued. "I don't believe it! Him and her?"

"Well, you know what they say opposites attract."

So these girls were still disillusioned as to the true nature of their relationship. Good. It could stay that way. Then the first voice spoke up again. "Are you kidding me? Plain Jane and _him_? It's just not right! I mean, she hangs out with Anne the Dateless Wonder, for fuck's sake!"

"What are _you_ going to do about it?"

"Nothing. For now. But I'll cook up something, or my name isn't Lara Andropov."

And everything clicked into place.

Their conversation seemed to be over, and the sea of navy blue had since become a pond, so she quickly bounded up the stands' steps and to Vaughn, who was seated behind his snare as if nothing had happened whatsoever. But when he saw her, worry crept over his features and showed itself in the wrinkles on his forehead. Pointing at her own forehead in warning, she approached him and whispered, "Lara Andropov wants you. Look out. More later."

"Syd, there's something—" His urgency was very apparent, but Guter's voice drowned him out.

"PORTER! Get back to your seat!"

She complied, tossing back a lasting look over her shoulder.

The last quarter of the game passed all too slowly for Syd's liking, who nervously glanced down at Vaughn every few seconds. With about a minute left in the game (and the score thirty-four to six), Anne finally took Syd's mind off of whatever it was Vaughn had to say by starting a discussion. Anne explained about what exactly a Kitchen Sink entailed: about a half-gallon-sized banana split that came with a bumper sticker. When the buzzer rang to signify the end of the game, Syd bounded blithely down the stairs to find Vaughn. Upon doing so, she grabbed the front of his drum and began tugging him to the track (they had to march back before they could go anywhere, and she wanted to steal a few more moments with him). "Greg's gonna give me directions to Colonial over the phone since he's riding with Anne, so we can have ourselves another three-way." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, but he continued to look worried and stressed.

"Syd, you'll never believe who I saw."

"Who?" She became vastly more serious.

"Well, the guys were beefing up their stash of coke, and I was just kind of staring around stupidly—"

"Get to the point," She hissed as they neared her spot in line. "Who did you see?"

"Syd, their dealer was Sark."

_**TBC . . .**_


	13. So Much For On Time

**(Not so) Lucky Number 13…**

**Addition to Disclaimer:** I do not own Anne's prose piece. It's "Survivor" by Chuck Palahniuk. (It was one of my prose pieces and, yes, I did have to say that name every week.)

**This Chapter:** A possible explanation for Sark's drugginess; the quoting game and another secret rendezvous; the band trip to U of I (true story, by the way…left out a few things because o' the yungin's, though…)

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Feelin' Too Damn Good" and "Another Hole in the Head" by Nickelback, and "No Such Thing" and "My Stupid Mouth" by John Mayer

**Author's Note:** According to my written copy of Chapter Twelve, it has been almost three months since the last chapter (or 87 days to be exact). This chapter, consequently, is about forty-five pages written (forty-four and thirteen lines to be exact).

* * *

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Thirteen: So Much For On Time**

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm positive."

"Yeah but _are you sure?"_

"Damn it, Syd! I know what the man looks like! If I say I saw him, then I saw him."

"The real question, Agent Vaughn, is if _he_ saw _you_."

Vaughn locked eyes with the elder Bristow across the table. "_I am positive_. Like I said before, I was in the back of the group and in the shadows. They don't let new recruits handle big drug deals in case they do something wrong. Newbies are just supposed to hang out and observe. Their whole M.O. is eerily like a business; it's it's disturbing, quite frankly. An utter enigma."

No one knew how to respond, and his last sentence hung in the air like cigar smoke in the small room. In response to their request for a safe house/meeting place, the CIA had sanctioned a fully equipped annex above a restaurant in Angers, the next town over from Sugarville. Everyone that had been sent to the small suburb was crowded into the dusky room, barely having enough room for a conference table, six chairs, and sufficient room to pace. They had gathered in the wee hours of that Saturday morning after the first football game to discuss the most recent development in their mission. Despite their rag-tag appearance (Syd and Vaughn were still in their band shirts and Marshall was actually sporting a sleep cap), most were fully awake, although Sydney's eyelids drooped from time to time.

Before they left the school, Syd had called Jack to inform him of their situation and to ask how he wanted them to proceed. He said to go ahead and grab a quick something to eat at Colonial which would give him time to phone Kendall back in L.A. Their "quick something to eat" elongated to midnight when the staff at the small restaurant kicked out the still-rowdy teenagers. Instead of continuing the party somewhere else (Syd had never seen a group of people so excited over a loss), the agents elected to go "home": Sydney's house and then said meeting place.

The discussion up to this point had not really gone past disbelief. Not one agent could wrap their mind around the fact that _Sark was dealing drugs in a suburb of Chicago_. Naturally, they began attacking Vaughn's credibility, saying that he was hallucinating, too tired, even high off the fumes from the drugs he had dealt (obviously Marshall's idea). He had been fending off their heated accusations for a good half-hour, and the only person who had seemed to overcome his momentary incapacitation was Jack Bristow. For once, the elder agent was not glaring at Vaughn with contempt.

Taking a long drag from the hastily prepared travel mug, Sydney sighed. The caffeine was buzzing through the blood vessels in her brain, trying in vain to awaken the numb organ. She blinked languidly before trying her voice. "But Vaughn, why would Sark be here? Dealing drugs? _To kids?"_

"Maybe it's just Sark's sick way of making a few extra bucks," Dixon tried.

"No," Weiss countered. The pen between his thumb and index finger began pounding up and down, rapidly beating the defenseless air. "No. I think that Sloane's found us out and sent Sark to keep an eye on us."

"Not quite, Agent Weiss," Jack responded, beginning to pace behind his seat at the head of the table. "I believe if either Sark or Sloane knew where we were, we would know they know." When he received confused glances he corrected, "They'd make themselves known to us, even going so far as to expose you three."

"I certainly wouldn't put it past them," Syd mumbled into the fist supporting her chin.

"Which leaves us with the fact that he's here and dealing drugs," Dixon summed up yet again.

"Well," Marshall stammered, garnering everyone's attention. Quailing under the combined heat of their gazes, he straightened up in his seat as if an invisible string was stretching his spine. "What if that's just w-what he's d-doing?" Finding his voice he in their expectant silence plowed on, "I mean, most people have two jobs if their first one doesn't pay enough. I know I was thinking about taking up the night shift at this gas station but my mom said no and I don't like gas stations anyway: too dirty."

Before he could continue his rambling, Weiss cut him off. "Yeah! What's to stop Sark from still dealing with previous contacts even though he's working with Sloane? Maybe Sark has been supplying these kids for years and we just didn't know it. Even one of Interpol's most wanted men needs a little extra cash _sometimes_, right?"

"This is crap!" Syd suddenly yelled, slamming both fists down onto the table and consequently making everything jump. Maybe it was her frayed nerves, lack of sleep, Sark in general, or all of them combined They were weighing her down like a sodden fur coat to the point of hysteria. The best aspect of this mission so far, she thought, was that she did not have to deal with anything remotely debauched related to Sydney Bristow's life. Sloane, Sark, her mother, the KGB they were all left behind in L.A.

Supposedly.

Not anymore, though. Not with the appearance of Sark. Los Angeles and Chicago merged, and this little corner of as-close-to-Heaven-as-one-could-get that they inhabited now shattered. It did not matter that they had originally been sent there to take down a drug ring. It did not matter that her boyfriend was risking his life every day in a gang just for that purpose. All that mattered now was that Sark was involved. How naïve was she to think that the most evil people in the world could leave her alone for _just a little while?_ The entire thing made her sick.

She suddenly became aware of everyone glaring at her, both worried and concerned. The most prominent was Vaughn, eyes boring into her from across the table. They were suddenly accompanied by a brush of her bouncing ankle. This small gesture reassured her more than any words of comfort could. It gave her the strength of mind to start thinking again.

'_Okay. Let's start with the facts. We know that there's an international drug ring supposedly based in Columbia with operatives here in Smalltown, U.S.A. What else do we know? That Sark deals drugs here are well. Purpose: unknown. What do these have in common?'_

"Drugs. They both have drugs in common. What if What if _Sark_ was running this drug ring? What if it wasn't based in Columbia, but Russia? What if it's a special kind of drug? One that clouds your judgment? Well, all of them do that, but I mean somehow enhance their mental and physical capacities. Oh, they do that too! What I really mean is that they switch the loyalties of the user. That they're used to recruit kids! Yeah, that's it! Or there's some Rambaldi pencil sharpener hiding in an unsuspecting student's locker—"

Silence surrounded her, and she bit her bottom lip behind a cupped hand. She had not even realized that she had been talking out loud until the soft brush was replaced with a swift tap to her shin, effectively muzzling her. If she had not been so extremely worn out, she would have been blushing like a tomato, but at the moment she was too tired to care. Instead, she merely gave her eyelids one last tug and rested her head on her fist.

"Did she pass her last psych eval?" Dixon queried to no one in particular.

"Hang on a second," Weiss defended slowly, occupying a laid-back position. "Miss Psycho Band Geek Spy Barbie may be on to something." Sydney had enough presence of mind to peer down the conference table and throw him a dirty look. "I'm serious, Syd! What _if_ Sark is running this ring? What _if_ he's trying to recruit for his organization? We don't exactly know his motives for being _here_ of all places. I mean, I'm sure he could be making more money whoring a prostitute in the middle of a church—"

"Eric!"

"Eric!"

"Agent Weiss! That was unnecessary!"

"Well, excuse me!" He bolstered. Maybe Syd was not the only one with testy nerves after all. "I'm only calling it as I see it, all right?"

"You're wrong, Eric," Vaughn whispered, his tone causing everyone to fix their eyes and attention onto him. His gaze seemed inexorably trained to a coffee stain on the table, seeing more in the misshapen brown blob than any of them. "He made a nice haul tonight. I don't know where these kids get that kind of money, but they do. And they don't mind spending it."

A different silence hung in the room then: one of anxiety, apprehension, almost fear. Each agent looked to another for possible reassurance and found nothing Until all eyes landed upon Senior Agent Jack Bristow.

"The CIA confirms," He began, "that there has been something fishy about this drug ring all along: that's why we're here. But," He added hastily, "we had no idea that Sark was involved in any way, or if Sloane knows about his side venture. Will's heading a team of analysts back in L.A. who are working on establishing any leads they can on this subject. For now, though, we must continue on as if nothing has happened. Keep investigating your respective leads. But always be on alert: we have no idea if the KGB, Triad, or even Sloane have sleeper agents in this school." Administering an admonitory glance at each agent in turn, he nodded shortly. "Dismissed. Leave alone or in pairs at intervals. Sydney, I'd like to speak with you, please."

She had been practically out the door when her father signaled her out, Vaughn not far behind. He gave her hand a quick squeeze before trooping down the hidden stairs with Weiss. Syd approached her father cautiously. "Yes?"

"Sydney," He started, then stopped and swallowed as if he did not know quite how to word what he wanted to say. After locking gazes with the dirty wall behind her he tried again. "Sydney, you need to be the most careful. Any minor slip-ups in protocol or appearances could spell disaster for the entire mission. You never know who could be watching you."

He was being condescending and patronizing; she knew that. He was hinting that he had seen her and Vaughn together, or at least heard rumors about them; she knew that as well. But what she could not understand was why he was telling this to _her_ and not _Vaughn_; the majority of the time he was the one who received the "Keep Your Hands/Other Body Parts to Yourself" lecture. At that moment, though, she was much too tired to think about anything too extensively, except how warm and inviting the concept of a bed seemed to be all of a sudden. She merely nodded in response, filing away a note to search for hidden innuendoes later, and strolled aimlessly down the stairs.

Weiss and Vaughn were both waiting for her at the foot of the staircase, hands thrust deep into their pockets and miles away in their own separate worlds. Only her clumsy descent upon the last two stairs pulled them from their reveries.

"So we get the shaft yet again," Weiss commented, allowing a small grin to lift a corner of his mouth. "You think they'll ever get tired of screwing us over? It's _gotta_ get boring after a while Right?"

"I hope to God so," Vaughn replied, leaning against the dirty wall and cringing involuntarily. "Otherwise I don't want think about it. All I want to do is go home and sleep away the weekend. Thank God Michel Tibot is morally opposed to doing homework. I don't know how you're going to get through this weekend, Syd."

"With bags under my eyes and a twenty-four pack of Jolt, I suggest," Eric threw out.

A weary grin spread slowly across her stretched lips. "Yeah, I guess."

Vaughn narrowed his eyes and studied her. "What's up, Syd? Do you need to talk?"

She subconsciously wet her lips with her tongue as she searched for the right words. "I can't help but think that "

"That we could be in _way_ over our heads, here?"

"Exactly."

"No freaking shit."

* * *

"'"The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of many things. Of shoes, of ships, of ceiling wax; of cabbages and kings. And why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings." _Alice in Wonderland_ by Lewis Carrol."

"'There she weaves by night and day a magic web of colors gay. She has heard a whisper say a curse is on her if she stay to look down on Camelot.' 'The Lady of Shallot' by Alfred Tennyson."

"'Water, water everywhere but not a drop to drink.' 'The Rime of the Ancient Mariner' by Samuel Taylor Coleridge."

"Ooh! Good one! How about 'Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.' 'The Raven' by Edgar Allen Poe."

"'Faith is a fine intervention For gentlemen who see, But microscopes are prudent In an emergency.' Emily Dickinson."

"She's one of my favorites; I've got books on her. How's: 'Some say the world will end in fire, Some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate To say that for destruction ice Is also great And would suffice.' 'Fire and Ice' by Robert Frost."

"'Hark! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east and Juliet is the sun. Arise fair sun, and kill the envious moon—'"

"Oh, we're done now! Once you start breakin' out the Shakespeare — especially _Romeo and Juliet _— then you _know_ you've reached the end of the line."

"Come on, Anne! It's one of my favorite plays!"

"No, Jane. You're just mad because you were losing. Now be quiet and let me wheeze in peace."

The one thing Syd hated most about Jane Porter was that the girl did not do track, therefore she was not a good runner, and therefore she did not like to run. So she was stuck in seven/eight gym on a beautiful September _Friday_ afternoon walking at a pace that reminded her of glue dripping down a vertical piece of paper. It drove her absolutely insane. They had to complete six laps (one and a half miles) in about forty minutes; she could do it in about six, five and a half if she was _really_ trying. But as of that moment, she and Anne plugged dutifully around the track at the laziest pace allowed by Mrs. Clark, planning to lie about the number of laps they had done. They had been chatting about pretty much anything that flitted across their minds: their quoting game, the airheads in English, the latest band jokes.

" And that's why Henry thinks I perpetually want to rape him," Anne concluded after a lengthy and rather crazy story. She shrugged her shoulders as she studied her ratty gym shoes. "After three years, it still hasn't gotten old."

"Good. I was beginning to think that you two were serious about that whole thing."

"Are you kidding me?" Anne exclaimed incredulously. "I wouldn't touch the boy with a ten foot pole, no matter how 'long' he says he is: two drumstick lengths is a little not possible."

Sydney laughed shortly and pondered for a moment. All the other girls she had socialized with always figured out some way to drag one of their past boyfriends into the conversation. Anne did no such thing, although she did tend to bring up a random band 'thing' to share, usually having nothing to do with their train of thought whatsoever. Curiosity got the best of her, and before she could check the question she found herself asking, "Whom _have_ you touched with a ten-foot pole?"

Her friend stared at her blankly for a moment before comprehending. "Oh! You mean who have I gone out with? No one. I think I'm one of the two people in this world who have pretty much gone through a public high school without having one single date."

This only served to pique Syd's curiosity further. She had also never had a date in high school, but that might have owed to the fact that she went to an _all-girl boarding school_, and any dating that went on there would have constituted a major lifestyle change. This girl was smart, funny, and extremely entertaining; she even enjoyed watching most sports. What guy would not want to date her? "Why not?"

Anne shrugged indifferently. "I don't know, but I bet ninety percent of it has to do with my appearance. Guys these days don't want much to do with a non-whore who isn't a size zero, and therefore no potential for turning them _into_ a whore. Plus," She added as an afterthought, "I'm really shy."

Syd's eyebrow lifted in involuntary disbelief.

"Yeah, yeah, no one believes me, but it's true. All this—" She motioned wildly in the air "—isn't real. Get me alone with someone, and I clam up. I just don't talk. I've never really bothered to analyze it before; I guess it's just easier to believe that I haven't been looking hard enough for the right guy rather than there is no right guy for me."

'_My God, how old is this kid?'_ She wondered, not for the first time. _'This is stuff I should be saying! If I hadn't found the right guy already.'_ All of this sounded painfully familiar to Syd; she knew all too well where her young friend was coming from. She shook her head sadly and started, "Oh Anne—"

"No. Don't," The young student replied firmly in a tone that the undercover agent had never heard from her before. It made Sydney look at her curiously. Anne stared straight ahead instead of down at the ground as usual, and in her eyes were a mixture of strength, determination, and sadness. "Don't burst my bubble. Let me live in my own fantasy world. And if no one wants to join me well, I guess I'll learn how to deal."

A decidedly lopsided silence gripped the pair as they continued at their slow pace. Anne's was a firm silence, one that secreted strength of mind and independence; so much so that most certainly hiding just on the other side was a scared and timid little girl. Sydney was still attempting to evaluate this girl. Her heart truly ached for her in a way that she never remembered it aching for another person. She _knew_ what Anne was experiencing — had been going through it herself up until, oh, about a little day officially known to the government as the Takedown of SD-6. _But Anne was only sixteen__Right?_ Suddenly her father's face appeared clearly in her memory, her mind's eye trained on his mouth as he spoke those few poignant words:

"_You never know who could be watching you."_

Syd immediately dismissed the thought as radical and paranoid, and as she felt the discomfort float away on the brisk breeze, she sighed in contentment. The leaves were just starting to change, and the unmistakable scent of decomposing foliage permeated everywhere. Everything here was so different: there were actual _seasons_ in Illinois compared to the perpetual state of summer in California. That morning was the first time she had unearthed a jacket before Christmas in practically forever. The anticipation of weather shifting was almost palpable. Perhaps that was what Sydney found so endearing and calming about being outside that afternoon.

After what seemed like an eternity, Sydney felt Anne's elbow dig into her ribs at a particularly sore spot (one too many butts with the end of a rifle will do that to a girl). She gave an involuntary wince before discreetly favouring the tender area and whispering a harsh, "What?"

"He keeps staring at you," Anne replied smoothly.

Immediately, Sydney's spy senses went into overdrive: her eyes gave a thorough once-over to the track, stands, and even the parking lot; her Sense of Intuition Antenna sprung up and began reaching out its invisible feelers to detect anything out of the ordinary.

Nothing. She came up with nothing.

"Where?" She stage-whispered hastily, fighting to keep her anxiety and apprehension below the surface of her skin.

A small smirk played over her friend's lips as she flicked her head behind them indicating the concession stand, now devoid and looking quite forlorn. "Michael. He's been staring at you for most of the period from around the corner. I think he'd like you to join him behind the concession stand A-S-A-P. Looks like he's got a little something on his mind, too."

Syd's heartbeat immediately stabilized, and she fell back into stride along her friend. But at the same time, another sense was piqued within her brain: why was Vaughn ditching class just to watch her? And how the hell did Anne see him before she did? The latter question was shoved aside in favor of the former, and a query sprung to her lips before she could think twice. "What the hell does he want in the middle of the day?"

"Does that really matter to you?" Anne deadpanned, her short legs practically jogging to keep up with Syd's long strides. "Now, what we have to do is figure out a way to distract Coach — I mean, Mrs. Clark so that you can go and have a forbidden rendezvous with your secret sexy French boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend," She countered, automatic and unconvincing. With a furtive glance over her shoulder she added, "And anyways, I can't just cut class for a few minutes to have a conversation with him."

"You can if my plan goes off without a hitch," Anne corrected, her smirk widening into a full-fledged smile. She began to slow her speed and limp noticeably, favoring her right leg. "All you have to do is double back on the track and you're scot-free. Have fun for me, okay?" Her face contorted in faux pain, and she started to change her course, drifting out towards the gate where their teacher stood surveying her class with a sharp eye. "Coach Clark! My knee's starting to act up again! I think it's gonna rain soon. Can I go see Pam and get some ice ?" Anne stood facing the track, forcing Clark to turn her back on the class. With an almost imperceptible wink at Syd, she supplemented her predicament with a groan of pain.

To her credit, she was very convincing.

Grabbing her window of opportunity, Sydney raced across the football field and hopped the fence that encircled the track, her feet carrying her over the chain link easily and effortlessly. Her fellow classmates barely gave her a second glance as she cut around the small building to the place that they had shared that heated kiss the night of the first football game. To her utter surprise, there was Vaughn clearing the dirt from under his fingernails while lounging nonchalantly on the portable metal staircase.

"Took ya long enough. I was beginning to think you'd never notice me, spy girl."

"I didn't," She replied a little shortly; what gave him the right to be so cocky all of a sudden? "What do you want, Vaughn?"

"To see you, of course. Do I need any other reason?"

"You do when it's the middle of the school day and both of us are risking blowing our covers by cutting class and meeting behind the concession stand while almost in plain view of my entire gym class!"

"Calm down, Syd!" He said, finishing with his nails and sitting up to face her. "It's seven/eight. It's my free period. I have off campus, so I can do and go wherever I want, and if it happens to be out on the track where I can watch my incredibly sexy girlfriend work out that's fine with me." She sighed huffily, but a hint of a smile and colour crept into her façade despite herself. "And technically you're the only one ditching class, here. But Anne looks like she's got everything pretty much under control."

They both risked a covert peek at the gate where Anne was attempting to walk without assistance from Clark and failing miserably.

"She's one good actress, I'll give her that," Syd muttered, more to herself than Vaughn. Tugging him back behind the stealthy staircase she pressed, "What do you want, Vaughn? I'm serious."

His smile slowly disappeared as his face hardened. The toying of his fingernails was now a stalling tactic instead of a cocky action. "I didn't want to have to tell you like this, but here goes. Jack sent me a coded note through the Dean's office saying that Kendall confirmed the existence of a bank account in Columbia owned by Southwest Shores, an Italian oil company that poses as a front for Sark and Sloane. The CIA reported that there had been a withdrawal about five days prior to last Friday, and a deposit that Saturday." He paused, locking eyes with her as the information sank into her skull.

"That means," She mused out loud, "that it really _was_ Sark and that he really _does_ run this drug ring. Wow. We wanted an answer, and we sure got one."

He nodded placidly in agreement. "That's not all of it, though. Will was analyzing satellite feeds from over Columbia on an anonymous tip. He found about a thousand acres of cleared farmland that hadn't been there last time we surveyed the area. Kendall sent a team yesterday to check it out."

"And?" Syd prodded hesitantly.

Vaughn sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair, resting his twitchy fingers on his earlobe. "Jack said they confirmed the farm grew cannabis for marijuana and poppies for heroin. It's owned by Sark."

She shook her head quickly. Every piece of information fit but one. Syd gazed at him intently, her eyes boring into his forehead as his head was bent. "But then he can't be running the drug ring here at this school. In briefing for this mission we were told that the dealers had been around for seven years, and well established for five. If the farm was recently built, it can't be the same one supplying the guys here." Despite her triumphant tone, there was a part of her that knew it was not true. Vaughn had not finished briefing her yet.

"Syd, our last detailed sweep of Columbia was over ten years ago. It's completely possible."

Sighing, she collapsed onto the staircase next to him and nuzzled her head onto his shoulder. He wrapped his left arm around her shoulders and rubbed them soothingly. Just being close to him — smelling the odor of cologne mixed with his sweat — made every one of her nerve endings hum with activity. She was tempted to take his now-red earlobe between her teeth, to complete _some_ form of strenuous physical activity during her gym hour, but the perpetual presence of their problems coupled with the more-that-likely threat of getting caught dampened her mood. So instead she merely rested there, content to reside in his arms for as long as Anne could hold Clark's attention. For a time, those problems hung in the background instead of in the forefront of their minds.

As he placed a chaste kiss on the top of her head, though, she heard Anne's signature shriek, presumably from the gate of the track. _'God, that child's voice is piercing,'_ Syd thought as she reluctantly rose from her position. "Guess the period's almost over," She commented, offering a hand to her boyfriend, who only kissed it before regaining his feet unaided.

He gave her a sly smile and an exaggerated wink. "See ya next hour, baby."

"Shut up, you cheese ball."

"That's Mr. Cheese Ball to you, cracker."

"That's Mrs. Cracker to you," She mocked, laughing inwardly at the double-sided joke.

Vaughn crossed his arms haughtily over his chest. "Obviously Mr. Cheese Ball and Mrs. Cracker are married to different condiments; otherwise she'd be Mrs. Cracker-Cheese Ball. Or just Mrs. Cheese Ball."

"Mrs. Cracker-Cheese Ball," She confirmed, peering out around the stairs to make sure that Clark was indeed still occupied. "And I meant to say _Miss_ Cracker, for you information, Mr. Cheese Ball. She has no intention of marrying a Mr. Cracker for fear of actually becoming a cracker in the slang sense."

"That's not cracker, that's a hick. Crackers are white people."

"Same difference," Syd remarked. "Anyways, Miss Cracker would like to tell Mr. Cheese Ball that she'll miss him, can't wait 'til their next _debriefing_, and sincerely hopes that his name belies his anatomy." Secure in the fact that she had left him utterly speechless, she added one more thing before she swung around the corner. "Oh, and Miss Cracker says that Mr. Cheese Ball can spread her any time he wants. Good day, sir."

Syd vaulted back over the fence and melted into a straggling group of girls as they cut across the field towards the gate and a hopping Anne. As soon as they engulfed the latter, her excessive movements ceased, and she tagged along beside Sydney at a normal rate. Suddenly Syd felt her hair being brushed aside from her neck, and she looked at her friend out of the corners of her eyes. "What're you doing?"

The hair fell back into place, and Anne sighed in exasperation. "I hop around pretending to have rheumatism so that you can have five minutes alone with your boyfriend — don'tyoudaretellmehe'snotyourboyfriend — and you don't even come back with so much as a hickey? Way to reciprocate!" She exclaimed sarcastically. "What the hell _were_ y'all doin' up in there?"

"Talking," Sydney answered honestly, adding silently, _'about the hostile takeover of your small-town suburb by drugs and evil, life-destroying men.'_

Anne narrowed her eyes in scrutiny, but said nothing. Instead she asked, "So does this mean there won't be any major make-out sessions on the bus tomorrow to make us all extremely uncomfortable?"

It was Syd's turn to narrow her eyes, and confusion shone through the thin slits. "What are you talking about?" She asked cautiously.

"Hel-lo!" Anne answered pointedly, not so patiently waiting for someone to open the locked doors to the girls' locker room. "Tomorrow we go down to U of I with the band to play at the Illini game! Band Day ring a bell? We get to play 'Stars and Stripes' and that American Medley crap before the game? The bus leaves at six AM, and we have to be here at five-thirty. I don't know if I can handle you two making out on a bus for three hours while Greg mercilessly teases you."

"Shit. I forgot about that."

"I'll take that as a no."

Just then the doors opened and a flood of girls stampeded inside to quickly change and then spend ten minutes retouching their hair and make-up. Syd internally groaned and rolled her eyes. Five-thirty? In Guter Speak that translated to five-fifteen, which meant that she woud have to get up at four forty-five at the least — and that was _if_ she took a shower that night.

'_Sleepover with Vaughn!'_

She smirked subtly.

* * *

"Syd. Come on, it's time to get up."

"Just five more minutes, Mommy."

"Yeah, Syd. Rise and shine! You can't shine if you're low!"

Sydney bolted upright, her eyelids as far apart as humanly possible. Before her stood both Weiss and Vaughn, their arms folded solidly over their dressed chests. They stared at her, unblinking, while she glared at Vaughn in disbelief. Completely disregarding Weiss's presence she exclaimed, "What the hell is he doing _here_, let alone in my bedroom?"

"And good morning to you, too, Miss Sunshine," Weiss replied cheerily as he prepared to yank the covers towards the foot of the bed. "Now. If you don't get out of bed in about two seconds, I'm going to see all that there is to see, and I don't think Vaughn wants me to see what you have to show."

Not wanting to wait for her mind to wrap itself around his statement, she motioned for Vaughn to toss her a robe begrudgingly. Weiss simply smirked smugly and turned his back on her, allowing Vaughn to help his girlfriend clothe herself. While she tied the belt she snapped, "Answer my goddamn question, Eric."

He recoiled as she began rooting around in her drawers for clothes. "No need to get snippy, Syd." She halted her search to toss him a scathing look, and he collapsed heavily onto the couch. "Let's just say that Greg, Michael, and Jane are car pooling today."

"And whose bright idea was that?" Sydney remarked sarcastically from the depths of her closet. The brand of silence that followed indicated Vaughn had concocted the plan. "Vaughn!" She groaned, muffled slightly by a shirt that had suddenly fallen onto her head. "Brilliant. You're fucking brilliant. Move over Einstein, 'cause Michael Vaughn's coming through!" Syd reemerged with a wrinkled band shirt; apparently she had not thought to hang it up after its last wash. Brandishing it at her boyfriend she admonished, "You call _Eric Weiss_ over to _my_ house at _four thirty_ in the morning and then have him _wake me up_? Are you _asking_ for a sex fast?"

While Vaughn's face fell, Weiss only laughed. "She's got a point, there, man," He stated, stretching exaggeratedly. "Why _am_ I here so early?"

Vaughn blanched and looked lost. "Because Hey, wait a second! Man, you're the one who rang the doorbell at four o'clock, decided the break into her house yet again, and drag me naked out of bed! I didn't ask for any of that!"

"_Four o'clock?"_

"Man, did I learn my lesson! Naked and Angry Vaughn Not exactly what I want to see first thing in the morning. But it'll definitely wake a person up."

"Hold up. You broke into my house _again_? That's it. I'm getting myself a security system and attack dogs that recognize your ugly mug and nasty smell."

"That hurt, Syd. That really hurt."

"Shut up and get out of my room."

"Yeah!"

"You too, Vaughn. You encouraged him. And by the way, the sex fast starts now."

"Ouch. Come on, Mike. I'll show you something on the Internet that'll keep you busy 'til she lets up."

"Oh, dear God. Leave! Both of you! Now! And if lightning happens to strike you, I won't bother to shed a tear." She slammed the door behind their retreating backs and dressed as quickly as possible, afraid of what Weiss was doing to/showing her boyfriend. The last thing she needed was to piece together a broken Vaughn corrupted by his best friend.

When she finally slogged into the kitchen at four forty-one, she gratefully found both men seated soundly at the table. Successfully resisting the urge to take a gander at the sink in case there were smoking dishes, she gracefully slid into her boyfriend's lap. "So," She said, "what's for breakfast, boys?"

"Krispy Kremes for us," Weiss answered evenly, his hands folded on top of the table. "But for those who throw around talk of sex fasts like it's all a game Well, those people will just have to go without the best doughnuts in the world."

Syd sighed in exasperation, tiring of Weiss's early morning games. "Would it satisfy you to know that I was planning on a quickie in the car before we left?"

"No! I'd rather do without the mental image of you—"

"Whoa!" Vaughn interjected, pointing a menacing finger at his friend while snaking an arm around his girlfriend's waist. "Let's at least _try_ to keep this non NC-17 for the kids."

"Kids? What kids? You two are gonna have kids? Oh, I'm so happy for you two! Congratulations! I guess there's no need for that quickie now, is there, Vaughn?"

"Shut up and get in the car."

"Yes, _Daddy_." Weiss groaned as he grabbed his travel mug from the table and banged out of the house.

Sydney rose slowly from Vaughn's lap. The moans her muscles issued seeming to travel straight out of her mouth. She gathered her keys, purse, and coat and began heading out the door. "I don't care what any of you say: we're stopping at Dunkin' Donuts on the way because I have no idea where the nearest Krispy Kreme is."

Vaughn nodded placidly, grabbing his own belongings as he followed her. "Fair enough," He replied, a bit preoccupied. Syd noticed this and spun around while standing on the threshold with her eyes narrowed. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck, eyes studying a nonexistent spot on the floor. "So, um were you, um, serious about the, uh, car? 'Cause Eric can always drive himself. Or walk."

She grinned and shook her head incredulously. "I was just yankin' your chain."

"Yeah, I wish." They smirked at one another and exited the house without another word. Weiss was waiting for them by Syd's car, leaning on the trunk nonchalantly.

He groaned as the keys clenched in her hand glinted in the small amount of light. "You're driving?" The other agents ignored him completely, climbing wordlessly into the car. "Does this thing come equipped with space shuttle seatbelts?"

"Get in the car now or Sydney will be forced to kick your ass twenty different ways."

"Referring to yourself in the third person Sydney means business. Weiss is shutting up now."

The car ride was made as short as humanly possible by Syd's impeccable driving. (She had decided to skip the entire doughnut debacle; she could survive without one of the most fattening substances on Earth for a morning.) By the time she screeched into the rapidly filing parking lot at five fourteen, both Vaughn and Eric were out of breath and clutching at their chests. "Oh, get over it," She snapped harshly, gliding out of her seat with her belongings. "At least I don't drag race like some of these teenagers."

"I think I lost a lung somewhere back there," was Weiss's smart reply. She merely slapped him upside the head when he closed his car door.

They entered the school as a group, followed by many other panting band students, some still clad in pajama pants and fuzzy slippers. (One girl wore blue cotton slacks with bright yellow ducks plastered every few inches; frog slippers enveloped her feet.) As they lightly jogged towards the band room, a flurry of faux flowers, eyeliner, flag bags, and the distinctly disabling smell of too much hairspray accosted them. Syd's suspicions were confirmed when, upon reaching the door to C-3, she was confronted with a sign that read, "CAUTION: whores at work." A cassette tape of the music played behind the door.

Upon entering the band room, Syd almost ran straight into the racks and their uniform bags. The towering hat boxes teetered precariously on top, threatening to crash down upon her head. With a lingering touch of her boyfriend's hand, the three parted ways and she went to go sit with her section. Anne was sitting rigidly in her usual spot, Katie Goode leaning against her and snoring lightly. As Syd slid into her chair, piccolo case in hand, Anne whispered, "I have no idea how she can sleep through all this commotion! I mean I can sleep anywhere and in any position if I'm tired enough — believe me, I know — but this? This is crazy?"

Syd merely nodded complacently, passively marveling at her young friend's early morning energy. "Why are we just sitting here?" She asked after a minute of silence.

"At last check, Guter was busy reaming out the bus company for not having the buses here by five fifteen. They're still not here, by the way. And before that, he was reaming out Madden for forgetting to start loading the vans exactly at five. Therefore the entire drum line was torn a new one for no apparent reason. But don't worry: since Mad Dog has no idea how to go about yelling at Michael, he probably won't."

"Good to know," The student/agent answered, preoccupied, as her eyes roved the vast gathering of sleepy students. They suddenly connected with Vaughn's, and they conversed silently from across the room for a time — until Anne exaggeratedly cleared her throat to remind Syd of her presence. As the former blushed, Anne merely smirked knowingly. "So," Sydney stalled in embarrassment, "who are we sitting with on the bus?"

"Everyone," Anne answered simply. "Just make sure you're on Guter's bus, about three or four seats back on the driver's side. We'll fill in. You'll see." When Syd questioned her with a look, Anne gave a blasé wave of her hand, stirring Katie to an upright position. "We've had a seating system since our trip to U of I in freshman year when Henry and Abby were going out. Just trust me."

Anne could say no more because Guter had waddled into the room, demanding everyone's attention. He gave short, sweet, to-the-point instructions about what was going to go on that day, and followed it up wit a lengthy speech about his expectations. ("If anyone puts a toe _remotely_ out line you'll learn to fear God." "You mean Guter." "Shut up, Jason! They knew what I meant.")

There was a mad rush for the uniform racks, and more than one hatbox plummeted as hands grabbed at anything resembling a garment bag. Somehow Sydney made it out of the mosh pit and down the stairs with her sanity mostly in tact, only to run into a second cluster of teenagers trying to smash their cargo in the backs of two school-owned vans. Mr. Seabrook Madden, "assistant" band director and head choral/orchestra director (and yet another teacher younger than her), was attempting to organize the chaos, fruitlessly yelling at the young students to line up and _hand_ everything to the parents. Of course that did not work. Hat boxes and garment bags seemed to sprout wings and fly through the air, occasionally flopping down on a random and unlucky freshman. Syd decided to follow suit: taking aim, she shot-putted the cursed black box she toted, and it landed with a thunk onto the rapidly growing pile. Congratulating herself internally, she began fighting her way back to the fringe of the crowd.

A voice raised itself over the others, reaching her ears and stimulating her interest. _"C'est trés stupid. Je ne peux pas être ici. J'ai sommeil! Je peux dormir! Je peux revenir chez moi! J'y peux aller maintenant. __Avec Jane et Greg__"_

"_Comment?"_ Syd answered in French. Vaughn's head swiveled in her direction, struggling to maintain a deep and disdainful frown. _"Est-ce que tu parles derrière mon dos? Qu'est-ce que tu dites?"_

"_Rien,"_ He answered indifferently, passing off the bags he was carrying to a sophomore behind him. _"Oú est-ce que nous—"_

"Over here. C'mon." Syd latched onto his arm and dragged him over to the first bus in a line of three; they had pulled up while they were battling through the sea of students. "I'm too tired and too teenager to care about speaking French," She whispered into his ear, causing him to chuckle softly. "First bus, fourth seat back on the driver's side. Go. I'm tired, I need sleep, and your shoulder looks very inviting."

He chuckled lightly again as he ducked and climbed the stairs on the old bus. "Are you sure that's all that looks inviting?"

Before Syd could concoct a reply that was to her liking, the entire bus broke out into a chorus of oohs; apparently they had all heard him. Someone from the back called, "If the bus is a'rockin', don't come a'knockin'!"

"Whoo hoo! Frenchie's learned some useful English!" Someone else whistled.

"Shut up! All of you!" Anne's piercing voice exclaimed. Her head popped up over the back of a seat. "Go back to your boring little lives and leave these two alone. Now, sit down and stop blocking the aisle."

Syd quickly slid into the fourth seat with Vaughn close behind. Their "group" slogged on behind them, filing to their spots as if they were assigned. They toted everything from pillows and blankets to CD players and books. Soon enough the crowds around the school vans dissipated as they transferred to buses. Students ran from yellow beast to yellow beast, desperately searching for an open seat anywhere that they could find one. When everyone was ready, the convoy rolled out onto the road.

Despite their usual exuberance, the students on Bus One were practically silent for the first few hours of the trip. The soothing sway of the vehicle even managed to lull both Vaughn and Weiss to sleep. (Weiss had been snared by Anne and was sitting alone across the aisle from the couple.) Syd successfully fought sleep in order to watch the sun rise over the cornfields of Central Illinois. It was a calming, serene view — something completely opposite from what was sure to come in the next few hours.

Dead cornstalks stood stark still in order to bask in the early morning light. They glowed orange when the sun first reached its rosy beams up over the horizon. The thin wisps of clouds nearest the round orb were painted a pale pink while the denser ones deepened to a dark shade of purple. From time to time they happened upon a windbreaker, a lumpy black stripe that separated crops and acres. Abandoned farms, barns, sheds, and rusty tractors were sprinkled liberally across the landscape. When they chanced upon a working farm, pastures of cows and horses whizzed past, disallowing her a sufficient glance to indulge herself. The soreness in her muscles and the ache of her eyelids seemed to lessen as she gazed out the window at the picturesque setting. Her internal thoughts were quelled, allowing the rhythmic thumping of the wheels over the asphalt and Vaughn's deep breathing to resonate within her. In a word, she felt at peace.

But before Syd knew it, the quaint farms and pastures became less abundant as the sightings of other motorists and fast food restaurants became more frequent. Parallel to their reentrance into urbanization, students began to stir and strike up conversations. Pretty soon the entire bus was back up to its normal sound level and the only two still motionless were Weiss and Vaughn. Anne's head rose over the seatback in front of her, an evil grin marring her features. Syd shook her head in bemusement, certain of her friend's intentions. She held up a hand to halt her, assuring her with a look that she had it taken car of. Anne shrugged but disappeared behind the seat all the same.

A quick once-over for possible eavesdroppers produced nothing, and Syd's hand began casually crawling up her beau's thigh, nearing the juncture of his legs. He shifted in his slumber, and a dreamy smile drifted across his lips. "Syd, not now: I'm trying to sleep," He mumbled, his speech garbled by a fuzzy tongue.

Sydney's eyes widened and she clamped a hand over his mouth, sufficiently waking him. His legs kicked out across the aisle, making contact with Eric's legs and jolting him from his dreams as well. Both male agents bolted upright in surprise, and Anne's surprisingly melodious laughter rose above the background chatter. "What lit a fire under your ass, buddy?" She asked rhetorically, appearing around the seat this time with a book clutched in her hands. Eric laughed sarcastically along with her shortly before flicking her off, effectively sending her back to her reading.

Vaughn's eyes were still bugged out, and Syd's grip was still as snug as a vice. She yanked his ear to her mouth and whispered vehemently, "Watch your mouth. Do you want to get us killed? You know, I wasn't serious about that sex fast, but I can be if you're going to be that careless about our lives."

What was visible of her boyfriend's face remained contorted in confusion. Weiss must have caught on, because he leaned across the aisle and supplied quietly, "Pillow talk killed the agent, my friend. Or in your case, will sexually frustrate the agent."

"Exactly," She added slowly, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

She did not think it was possible for his eyes to get any wider, but somehow they did, stretching his face unnaturally. Jumbled jargon made its way between her fingers, and she quickly removed it in order to understand him. "What the hell did I say? And who the hell heard me?"

Anne rejoined them, her arms folded on the seat and her chin rested on them. "What're you talking about? Who said what and where and when and how and, goddamn it, why?"

"Nothing. And no one." Syd turned back to Vaughn, hoping to convey her hidden meaning. "Then he said: _**s**__he __**y**__ammers __**d**__ramatically."_

She could practically see the cogs turning in his brain, laboring to twist her words in order to squeeze out her real meaning. When it dawned upon him he gasped exaggeratedly, playing his part perfectly. _"__**I m**__ust __**s**__ay, __**y**__ou __**a**__ll __**r**__at __**o**__ut __**r**__udely."_

Syd nodded, forgiving him, but Anne's eyes darted back and forth between the seatmates, more than a bit confused. "Am I missing something here? Or are you two just talking in code?"

The three agents joined her in laughter, but they were secretly sweating beneath their collars.

Guter struggled to his feet as the convoy rolled to a jerky stop in front of a group of non-descript campus buildings. He issued haggard directions that included taking only their instrument with them, grabbing their garment bags and hat boxes, and keeping every hair in place. The students listened obediently, putting their instruments together silently under the concealment of the giant seats. When he finished lecturing he dismissed them, and they pushed their way off the bus and to the awaiting school vans.

It was a flurry of navy blue nylon, plastic boxes, and pictures of red dresses as the students clamored to find their own belongings. "The best part about being on Guter's bus," Anne muttered at one time, passing a crowd surfing hatbox on to the next person, "is that we get everywhere first." It was then that Sydney noticed that the rest of the buses were just then unloading their human cargo. She laughed inwardly, but continued her search without remarking.

She soon found her belongings and a spare stretch of grass, whereupon she quickly stripped down to her shorts and replaced them with those ugly painter's overalls. Guter wanted them to walk together to the stadium in full uniform regalia, so Syd began struggling with her gauntlets while trying to zip up her garment bag at the same time. She achieved closure with the left one and the bag, but continued to wrestle with the right until a familiar hand alighted upon her forearm. The hand was joined by its mate and made quick work of the troublesome cloth. "Is this going to be a regular occurrence? Because there are more interesting articles of clothing that I could have problems with."

He smiled slyly. _"Je sais, je sais,"_ Vaughn replied in French, his voice inadvertently dropping an octave. His fingers glided over her arm, chilling her despite the thick layer of wool and midday heat. She mirrored his smile, and their gaze was only broken when Weiss decided to launch himself onto Vaughn's back. The latter groaned and batted him away by threatening him with drumsticks. "Why do you always have to ruin the mood? You're like water on fire! Or children to a married couple."

"Or the bottom of a beer bottle when you're looking to get really drunk."

The two swiveled their heads and knotted their eyebrows incredulously. Eric merely shrugged his shoulders indifferently. Syd knocked his Sousaphone-specialized beret off his head, and the couple moseyed towards Vaughn's drum box while he chased it down.

"So," He stalled, taking both her garment bag and hatbox out of her hands and placing them on the ground next to his own. "What are we doing here?"

She gazed at him in confusion, resting the embouchure of her piccolo automatically in the palm of her hand to keep it warm. "What do you mean?"

He rolled his eyes. "What's our objective here? What's our motivation for this scene?"

Syd mirrored his previous action as she watched him put together and check his drum. "We're here to have fun, Vaughn, did you forget that? This is the one day this century that we get to sit back and not really think about work. Or school for that matter." They smiled at each other as they thought of the activities the night before. She began to assist him with checking for loose screws on the snare head and possible cracks in his drumsticks.

"I don't think that's possible, Syd," Weiss argued in a low voice, coming up behind the couple toting both his beret and Sousaphone. The glare off the shiny brass instrument caused Syd to shield her eyes. "We never get a day off. Didn't your dad tell you? We have to change halfway through and start looking around Champaign for drug dealers."

Both Syd and Vaughn openly gaped at him, their jaws slackened noticeably.

"Just kidding! Ha ha ha " Eric exclaimed, trailing off after focusing on Syd's murderous façade. He attempted to put his Sousaphone in between him and her.

"Oh, so we're planning on killing Greg again, are we?" Anne had suddenly sneaked up on them yet again, causing each agent to wonder exactly how much of the conversation she had heard. Her round, smiling face looked from person to person slightly bemused. "'Cause I know a few good men who can get the job done." She paused for a moment, analyzing her word choice. "That sounded wrong, didn't it?"

"Yep," All three replied shortly, nodding their heads in unison.

She shrugged. "Oh well. It happens. C'mon. Guter wants us to start walking. The band parents are going to pick up our stuff so we can go and get good seats. Let's just hope that we don't get stuffed in the corner again. That was hell." As she talked she had begun to drift down the sidewalk. The student/agents began to follow, melding into the solid line of navy blue that stretched down the block.

The band made their way down the streets of Champaign-Urbana, home of the University of Illinois. Cars zoomed past them, and college students toting books and smug looks filed past them, giving each band member a sweeping glance of disdain as they blew by. No one seemed to care; they continued sidling along calmly, conversing with friends and yawning at almost regular intervals. As they neared the stadium, they began to see other bands as well, some from as near as Peoria and Springfield and as far as Rockford and Galena. But none of them were in full uniform yet; the Glenfield High School band was the only one to be fully decked out. The only thing this revelation did was piss them off; they began asking everyone who would listen why they had to wear their uniforms on such a hot day. Their answer was immediately passed back from the front of the line:

Because Guter said so.

That effectively shut people up.

They entered the stadium, got their seats ("Damn it! The same place again!"), and were allowed to strip off their jackets while they ate lunch. Outraged by the insanely inflated prices ("Three bucks for a small drink? What am I, made of money?"), most merely bought a bag of chips and then split off into groups to mooch off richer students. Vaughn and Sydney were one of the few who bought hot dogs _and_ a drink and, after leaving Weiss with his senior baby-sitters, decided to make their way towards the upper deck.

"Hey, what does this remind you of?" Vaughn asked, smearing mustard from his hot dog like lipstick around his mouth and dotting his nose.

She frowned playfully and swiped at his arm. "Shut up," She growled, taking a sip of her water bottle. "You _know_ that guy bumped into my arm! I am not that clumsy with my food, _Michel_."

"Funny," He retorted, his voice slipping out of his exaggerated French accent as an eyebrow slid up towards his hairline, "I thought you were just really excited about the Zamboni."

"Well," She replied, dropping down to a whisper, "if I was that excited over a machine that cleans ice, imagine just how _excited_ I was when I got to go home with you." Her grin melted away, and her eyes darkened with lust. They stopped walking, and Vaughn instinctively closed the gap between them. Syd leaned forward, her lips parted slightly, and his eyelids fluttered shut. But the kiss never happened. Instead Vaughn opened his eyes to see Sydney drinking lazily through the straw of his drink. He uttered something between a sigh and a groan as she pulled away, giving it one last sensuous lick.

"Syd, you suck."

"You would know." She winked mischievously, and this time he definitely groaned. "What?" She asked defensively, slapping on her innocent face. "What did I do?"

He rolled his eyes. "If this wasn't public and we weren't on a mission, I would _so_ be groping you right about now."

"Well, what's stopping you?" Syd asked, raising an eyebrow suggestively. He mirrored her action skeptically and she continued, "We could ditch these clothes, find a nice bathroom somewhere, and just—"

"Go at it like rabbits on speed?" He finished. "I'm there."

They tossed the remnants of their lunch into the nearest trashcan and began trotting up a cement ramp, giggling and teasing the entire way. They reached the next platform, hands roving, and were side-winding down the hallway when they happened upon a familiar voice.

"After it was on the news about everybody in the Creedish District Colony being dead and all, the first thing I did was start smoking. The smartest thing I've ever done. Then this morning when the caseworker dropped by to say, rise and shine, and the only other surviving Creedish went south last night, then I sat myself in the kitchen and upped my suicide process with a good stiff drink.

"Church doctrine says I have to kill myself. They don't say it has to be a hurry-hurry instant quick death."

They stopped cold, hands frozen wherever they happened to be positioned. The voice was easily discernable, despite the malice and cynicism laced in with her speech.

It was Anne.

Syd and Vaughn immediately gravitated towards the wall and slid silently along the concrete, flattened against it as thinly as possible. Creeping towards the next hallway, they peered around the corner. At first, the brilliant midday light threw Syd for a loop, causing her to blink rapidly in order for her to regain her vision. When she did, she saw Anne perched precariously on the ledge over the stadium with her hunched back facing them. By the way her body was swaying, she could tell her friend was kicking her legs against the ledge.

"The smoke hot and dense inside me feels the way I would if I had a soul No! That's not it!" She exclaimed suddenly, spinning around and hopping to the ground. She began to pace the width of the corridor, gesticulating and talking to herself at a volume that made her voice echo incoherently off the cement.

Vaughn glanced at Sydney, his brow furrowed in confusion. They exchanged yet another silent conversation discussing their M.O. for handling the situation. Quickly, they came to the decision that the best course of action would be to slink away (possibly to that bathroom) and forget they ever heard anything—

A thunderous roar erupted from the seating on the floor. "GET BACK HERE NOW!" It was Guter, and he sounded pissed. Vaughn quickly checked his watch and blanched: they had been due back at their seats ten minutes ago.

Anne swore sharply and began charging down the hall towards their position. While Vaughn physically scrambled to secure a cover, Syd did the first thing that came to mind. Taking him by the straps of his uniform, she pulled the length of his body to hers, smashing their lips together with a passion that only adrenaline and the fear of getting caught could bring. Vaughn was unresponsive at first, quite surprised, but melded to her just as quickly. His hands found their way up her body to cup her face, tilting it upward for a new and better angle. For a moment, they both forgot where they were, who they were, and what they were supposed to be doing.

But they were reminded soon enough when Anne emerged from the corridor and gasped, possibly a bit exaggeratedly. They broke apart instantly but reluctantly, blushing and wiping their lips. Syd slathered on a rare guilty look as she glanced nervously at her friend. "What are you doing here?"

Anne raised her eyebrows, slightly bemused. "Practicing my prose piece for Forensics. How 'bout you?" She replied slowly, her eyes slipping from male to female agent and back again. Seeing that Vaughn could not keep a silly adolescent grin from his lips, she raised her hands in surrender. "Take it back; I don't want to know."

Syd laughed in relief, linked her arm through her boyfriend's, and the three of them proceeded back down to their seats. They only began to sprint when they reached the narrow stairs, and Anne split off to join Katie, Caty, and Summer, discretely slipping behind the multitudes of taller students.

Syd and Vaughn did not have that luxury. When they reached the spot where they had deposited their belongings, they found Eric standing there in full regalia with his pudgy fists shoved into his hips. Not wanting to deal with his comments and/or innuendo, Sydney sternly stared at him as she reached for her jacket and hat, consequently missing and only kept from falling by Vaughn's ever-present hand at her bare elbow.

Ignoring her glare completely, Weiss abandoned his stance and turned to Vaughn. "I learned how to hack; that Limp Bizkit is going the way of boyband music: total obscurity; and I asked random people how to hijack a skybox. What did you two do? _Hands on_ research?"

Sydney rolled her eyes as she allowed Vaughn to velcro her gauntlets together. "Sure. Why not?" She replied flatly. Weiss stuck out his tongue at her childishly.

Anne abruptly appeared above Syd's left shoulder, stepping onto the metal bleacher bench and raising herself to the height of Weiss. One of her eyebrows rose as she stated matter-of-factly, "You two better get to your sections before Guter ass-rapes you. And—" Her volume increased as she stood on her toes "—according to Henry, that scars you for life!"

"Shut up!" The latter screamed up from the percussion section, shaking his fist menacingly.

Weiss, Vaughn, and Sydney laughed incredulously until they saw Anne's face. "Hello! I was serious! Go!" The guys left rather reluctantly, allowing the two girls time to talk. "So " Anne started.

Syd sighed heavily and shook her head lightly. "Don't even start, Anne. I already get enough crap from Greg; I don't need it from you, too—"

"Are you kidding me?" Her friend interrupted. "I know what hormones are like: I'm a teenager too!" Her glare pierced Sydney's skin and made it tingle unnervingly. "Come on, I'm your friend; you can tell me. Are you two _together_ together?"

"DOWN ON THE FIELD NOW!"

Saved by the Guter.

"Does that man only speak in capital letters now?" Anne asked rhetorically, dropping her former line of questioning inexplicably. Sydney shrugged her shoulders, warily keeping an eye on her friend as they melded into the crowd slowly making its way towards the Astroturf. Such a loaded query should not have been shoved aside so easily. But Syd decided to drop the dropping of the subject she wanted to avoid, and to enjoy herself as much as she could.

The pre-game with about twenty other high and middle school bands went well, and the Marching Illini followed as the mass of students waddled back to their seats. The field was sweltering (at least one hundred and ten degrees Fahrenheit), and more than one toe was stepped on in the mad dash to get out of it. The students were given free rein during the first two quarters; they could go, sit, do, eat, and _wear_ whatever they wanted as long as they were "properly representing and upholding the high standards of conduct of Glenfield High School." In other words, as long as one did not do something that made Guter look bad, one could do anything.

Weiss and Vaughn opted to remain in their respective sections, fearing backlash from their tardiness before.

So Syd was left to sit next to Anne, who was avidly watching the game, cheering and moaning with the rest of the crowd. Orange shirts surrounded the band; the traditional sound of keys clanging echoed around the stadium. Pictures of Vince Lombardi, Yogi Bera, and Mike Ditka coloured the blue, orange, and white scoreboard. The rhythmic chant of "I-L-L I-N-I" resonated through their very seats as the sideline cheerleaders lead them in rooting on their _winning_ football team.

'_This is what college should have been like,'_ Sydney thought suddenly. _'Not traveling to far-off countries and stealing weapons for a man I though was loyal to the U.S. government. Not lying to everyone I cared about. Not studying languages or foreign terrorist organizations 'til my brain bled.'_

As if sensing Syd's thoughts, Anne sighed and turned away from the game. "Won't college be great? I mean, scheduling your classes whenever you want, doing whatever you want, sleeping, eating whenever you what! Just think of the immense freedom! I wonder what it's like living alone."

"Not that great," Syd mumbled into her chest. Perceiving Anne's confused gaze she expanded, "Or so I imagine. One of my friends in California had an older sister in college. She wasn't exactly raving about it." Anne nodded placidly, having nothing to respond with.

The first two quarters went slowly in the Indian Summer heat, making the students around her grow restless more quickly than anticipated. The Marching Illini put on a spectacular halftime show that almost no one in the band watched. Instead, they were all standing and straining their necks to see if Guter was of the right mood to send them home early. Apparently he was, because a ripple of excitement shivered up the stands, and soon everyone was clamoring for their belongings and souvenirs. (Some freshman had bought a gigantic foam finger. How he was going to get it home, Sydney had no idea.)

In the mass confusion, Vaughn somehow managed to make his way to Syd's side. She smiled at him shyly and bit her lip, feeling her heart drip down into her shoes at the sight of his sweaty brow and tousled hair. He flipped up his drum so that the snares and bottom were exposed, placed his hand discreetly at the small of her back, and guided her through the crowd.

"_Tu peux aller chez moi après le match?"_ She asked quietly over her shoulder. If they were on time, they would arrive back at the school around seven; plenty of time to have "fun" at her house.

Vaughn averted his eyes and knotted his eyebrows. _"Euh..."_ He stalled hastily.

Sydney shook her head as she brushed off her own suggestion. _"C'est rien. Je sais pourquoi tu ne peux pas."_ He obviously had plans with _them_ that night. And, as was the Company policy, work before pleasure. Which usually left no time for the latter.

As soon as they exited the stadium, everyone began running, sprinting towards the white Glenfield vans at the end of the block. People were shedding shoes, socks, pretty much anything that could be stripped off without slackening the pace. By the time the couple reached the vans, they were back into the clothes they had arrived in, being skilled in the art of changing identities while on the run. In less than twenty minutes, every band and colour guard member was changed, had their cargo stored, and was patiently waiting on the bus to leave. The word being thrown around the most often to describe the trip was "pointless."

"While the game was slammin'—" Syd overheard one teen complain to anyone who would listen "—I mean, _come on_! We played for a _winning team!_ But that didn't mean we had to get up before the fuckin' crack a' dawn just to get here! It's so stupid!"

"Shut the fuck up, Buchanon!" A student in the back yelled. "At least Guter's letting us go after halftime. Maybe we'll even get home before seven!"

The high energy from the game carried over to the bus ride. When they departed, a roar overcame the bus as they jerked forward. All the talking melded together, registering in Sydney's brain as inane babble. Guter, only four or so rows up, made no effort to stop them, whether it be out of exhaustion or genuine indifference. So the babble progressed, punctuated occasionally by a freshman or sophomore shriek of laughter.

Just as Syd had decided to give into the sleep perpetually tugging at her eyelids, Anne's head popped into view over the seatback in front of her. Somehow she had managed to maintain her single seat, while almost everyone else's positioning had been shifted. Katie Goode and Mike Holcomb occupied Weiss's old seat while he had paired himself with the Cool Freshman, Dani Allen, who was unfortunately behind Syd and Vaughn. Henry and Abby Snowden, a colour guard "whore," were across the aisle while Caty Wagner and Summer were behind the latter two. The majority of "the guys" (both Johns, Joe Hall, and Tobi Morrison) had relocated to the back of the bus for reasons unknown.

"So " Anne addressed their group, duel sly smirks present on her face and in her voice. "We have three choices, here: theatre games, Jerry Springer, or sleep."

"Screw sleep!" Dani called out, reaching for a high-five over Syd's seat. "_Jenny_ Springer all the way!"

"Rock on!" Henry mirrored her tone, also reaching across the aisle to slap hands with Anne.

"No way," Abby interjected, crossing her bare arms over her chest. "I will _not_ be Henry's under-age mistress while he's married to Anne again! I vote theatre games."

"You forgot that I was also married to Joe Hall, thank you very much."

"Hey! I heard my name up there! What're you talking about?"

"Yer mom!" Six voices answered in unison, loud enough for the entire bus to overhear and ooh melodramatically. The response was quick and automatic, the way a hand swats away a buzzing mosquito from an ear.

Syd glanced at her boyfriend out of the corner of her eye. He stared back, allowing the gold specks in his irises to convey his mutual confusion in lieu of his patented forehead wrinkles. As discreetly as possible, she laid her head upon his shoulder, leaving just enough room between it and her ear so that his whisper could still be heard. "Are you as immensely confused as I am?"

"Probably more so," She whispered out the corner of her mouth before she sat up again.

A vote must have been taken because Anne reported, "Okay, so we have _Jenny_ Springer up first, then theatre games if we have time. Agreed?" Assents followed with minimal groaning from Abby. Grinning broadly, Anne cocked her head to the side, struggling to keep the eminent laughter from her voice as she said, "Take it away, Miss Springer."

All eyes turned towards Dani, prompting the couple to twist in their seats as well. Syd struggled to hold in the laughter that bubbled up from the pit of her stomach. Though the girl was a freshman (practically twenty years his junior) and her shoulders barely cleared the seat back when she stood up, Weiss looked mildly horrified as she slid into control of half of the bus's attention. "Before we begin, I need a Steve, a main character, and a story line."

Her smile turning good-naturedly malicious Anne supplied, "Greg is a perfect Steve, and I'm likin' Jane for a main character. Anyone for Plot Number Three?"

As no one objected, Dani cleared her throat importantly. "Alright. Ladies and gentlemen, I am Jenny Springer, illegitimate daughter of Jerry Springer and Pamela Lee-Anderson. Today we have with us—" She threw a sidelong glance at Syd "—Jasmine Grant, wife of—" a glance at Anne, who flicked her eyes towards Vaughn "—Darryl Thompson. Now, we understand you have a little secret that you've been keeping from your husband?"

In the end, Sydney turned out to be a hooker who was being pimped out by and secretly in love with the newly Mexican Henry (A.K.A. Rudolpho Rudolph), while Vaughn was having affairs with both Anne (Vienna Hunter), a porn star, and Abby (Susie Johnson), an underage former child actor. Somewhere during this "episode," it was suggested that Sydney and Vaughn take the body fluid clean-up kit to the back of the bus and "put it to good use." After tiring of Jenny Springer, the group moved on to theatre games, or what was more commonly known as "those things those guys do on that one show." ("'Whose Line is it, Anyway?'" "Yeah, that's the one!")

They had gotten through two Irish Drinking Songs, three Hoe Downs, one attempted Party Quirks, and one extensive game of Scenes From a Non-Existent Hat (themes were suggested by even Guter) before people began to check their watches with the regularity of a student before the last bell of the day. It was dark now, and way past seven. No one knew where they were, and Summer's cell phone began making rounds among the ranks as the students began calling parents to let them know they would be "a little late." Every time the bus would pass a commercial building — a car dealership, municipal building, anything that would indicate their current township — multiple people would read the signs out loud.

The group continued to play their theatre games, admittedly half-assed as they kept at least one eye out the window. "This never happens," Anne confided to Sydney, who was again fighting off slumber. "This is _Guter's_ bus. I'm surprised he hasn't taken over the wheel yet." Pausing for a second, she flattened her face against the window. "_Plainfield!_ WE'RE IN PLAINFIELD?" The rest of the bus groaned horribly, a collective thump rising up over the noise of the motor as they all slumped against their seats at the same time. Seeing Syd's ever-present confusion she elaborated, "Plainfield is about an hour NORTH of Glenfield. We went too far. We're so lost."

Pretty soon, even the effervescent Katie Goode gave up her attempts at rallying everyone's spirits. When Syd pretended to call her own parents, an observer in the back of the bus supplied their current locale. "KANKAKEE!"

This, as Sydney learned promptly, was an hour _south_ of Glenfield.

Vaughn and Weiss had been talking to each other with their heads stuck out into the aisle, but had lost interest along the way and fell asleep in a very unusual position. Sydney woke up Weiss so that Dani would not be crushed under his enormity, and, while he climbed over others' legs to sit next to Anne, she shifted her boyfriend so that he was lying on her shoulder. She had almost fallen asleep herself when another cry rose up from Abby. "We're in Kankakee again! We just made a gigantic circle! Are we _ever_ going to get home?"

Sydney sighed, giving in to her body's urges and falling asleep herself.

She woke up with Weiss's face about an inch from hers. "Thank you for saving me the trouble of waking you like Vaughn does," He whispered before facing forward yet again.

Yawning and stretching carefully, Syd check the watch on Vaughn's wrist and nearly balked; it was almost eleven thirty.

'So much for "on time" '

At least they were in familiar territory, though. Their bus was the last to pull up to Entrance A, unloading its sleepy passengers at the speed of molasses in January. They retrieved their uniforms, stowed their instruments in the band room, and met by Sydney's car for the ride home.

"No Colonial tonight," Weiss muttered as they slid into the vehicle simultaneously.

"And no plans with the _Negro/Azuls_, either," added Syd, starting the car and beginning the journey home.

Vaughn swore sharply and slammed a fist down on the arm rest. "I forgot all about that. What am I going to do now?"

"Oh, who cares?" Weiss replied thickly, obviously suffering from a case of fuzzy tongue. "And plus, you get to spend the night at Syd's again. I never thought I'd see the day when you'd turn that down."

"Good point. We'll deal with it in the morning."

They reached Syd's house without an accident, Weiss left in his own car, and Syd and Vaughn stumbled like zombies into the house, throwing everything in a pile by the doorway. Vaughn continued on to the bedroom, but a flashing number on the answering machine caught Sydney's attention. Pressing the button, she did not bother to stifle a yawn as it played.

What it said immediately woke her up.

It was her father.

"Sydney, we have a situation."

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Fourteen:** The EWE Party  
**Chapter Fifteen:** Homecoming Part I

There's two parts to the Homecoming, and I've planned it that way from the beginning. Hope y'all don't hate me TOO much for being so late with this chapter. And if you don't, you will by the end of the next chapter. [evil laugh]

As always, feedback makes my day and earns you extra brownie points.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	14. The EWE Party

**Blah, blah, blah…Disclaimer, Don't own, blah…**

**Addition to Said Disclaimer:** I don't own _Fahrenheit 451_: Ray Bradbury does. It's an awesome book, so I suggest you read it if you haven't.

**Chapter Genre:** Seriousness, amazing fluff, then MAJOR angst. Talk about your roller coaster ride

**This Chapter:** Early morning book talk, an unusual Friday meeting, a revelation, and the EWE Party

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Get Low" by Lil Jon and the East Side Boys, "Right Thurr" by Chingy, "Evenstar" off of the _Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers _Soundtrack for the end

**Author's Note:** At the rate I'm writing, I'm going to need another notebook …

* * *

**Seventeen Again **

**Chapter Fourteen: The EWE Party**

Jack's "situation" turned out to be only that Marshall had shown up unexpectedly at his house and did not seem to want to leave. Vaughn had already collapsed on her bed fully clothed and was snoring softly as she made the hurried phone call to her father. After hanging up halfway through his sorry explanation, she too collapsed on the bed, exhausted.

* * *

"Who has Jackson for English? Abby! What do you know about the Puritans?"

"Here's my notes."

"Who's Speaker of the House?"

"Dennis Hastert. Why?"

"No, not that one! Ours!"

"Oh I'm not in Government right now."

"Anyone in Physics?"

"Jill Davies is. She's around the corner by the water fountains, or in zero hour orchestra, which would mean you're screwed."

"Does anyone have gym shoes I can borrow? I forgot mine."

"What the hell is a critical point and what does it have to do with the derivative of f of x?"

"You're on page one eighty-four? Here's the answers."

"Does everyone have all the homework they need?" Anne asked impatiently, addressing the entire group congregated around her locker. Heads bent over notebooks and others' papers nodded silently as hands furiously jotted down answers. She tossed her beat-up copy of _Beowulf_ into the open locker behind her and sat up, folding her legs underneath her. Across from the latter sat Weiss, clad in his home football jersey and playing a game animatedly on his calculator. He was oblivious to everyone and everything.

Similarly, Syd and Vaughn were also off in their own world. Stealing the idea from Anne, they decided to keep a note notebook (coded, of course) in which they would write notes to one another and pass the notebook off at their next meeting. At the moment they had been interrupted, they had been having a surprisingly serious conversation.

Syd wrote, '23—25—39—4—31—15—(-10)—(-4)—31—35—39—15—31—(-4)—39—(-2)—6—23—0—25—15—31.' _'I have more cameras with me.'_

In his tall scrawl Vaughn replied, '6—25—31—(-4)—31—39—(-4)—31—10—(-10)—2—27—(-10)—23—(-12)—27—0—(-10)—(-8)—17—39—(-12)—0—0—25—31—15.' _'Where are you going to plant them?'_

She penned without hesitation, '23—(-12)—0—2—(-4)—(-12)—37—39—2—27—25—(-2)—(-4)—(-10)—(-10)—15.' _'In Tressaut's room.'_ Instead of replying, he threw her a quizzical look out of the corner of his eye as he readjusted his band shirt. She sighed in exasperation and elaborated, '0—25—31—(-4)—31—23—(-2)—(-2)—(-10)—15—31—0—25—23—(-12)—27—2—(-8)—6—23—0—25—25—23—15.' _'There is something up with him.'_

Before Vaughn could write anything back, Anne harshly cleared her throat. "Please put away the notes, Mister Tibot. We have issues to discuss." He blushed and hid the notebook as Syd chuckled discreetly behind her hand. Turning back to the group at large Anne announced, "We have three items on our agenda today: Linda's party, band officer elections, and Homecoming." A few people glanced up while others merely inclined their heads as they continued to scribble furtively. "First of all, band elections. They take place the day before Homecoming, and I am running for president again. I hope I can count on all of your votes." A meaningful glance swept around the large, oblong shape they had gathered themselves into. "Second: Homecoming. Tickets go on sale today during lunch, and if you haven't gotten in your permission slip for dates from other schools, then you're probably too late. Katie Goode has invited all of the girls over to her house on Homecoming Day to get ready; pictures are at four o'clock sharp. I made reservations for twenty at Macaroni Grill: I think that should cover all of us. Everyone's going, right?" Each head in the group bobbed once but Eric, Syd, and Vaughn glanced worriedly at one another. They had never even thought about their Homecoming plans; it had been such a long time since any of them had gone to one. Luckily, Anne did not look at them as she continued, "Lastly, Linda Schlesinger announced this morning that she's having an EWE Party tomorrow night and everyone's invited. She asked me to add that her parents are out of town for the weekend." The slightest glimpse of distrust flitted across her face before it was chased away by a strong smile.

Sydney's head began to ache. An EWE Party? What the hell was that? "Uh, Anne?" She spoke up, nudging her friend in the elbow. "Expand, por favor," She beseeched, purposely pronouncing the Spanish plea wrong according to the popular style.

Snapping and pointing at the latter, Anne screwed up her face as retribution for her forgetfulness. "That's right, you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Syd shook her head. Weiss shut off his calculator to listen as well, kicking Vaughn's outstretched legs to garner his attention. All three looked at their younger friend in anticipation. "Linda is famous for throwing these crazy parties at this time of year. She calls them EWE Parties. It stands for 'Excuse? What Excuse?' Anyone who's anyone goes to these parties for reasons that are oh-too-painfully obvious." Pausing for a moment she scrutinized, "You might enjoy it, Michael—"

She never got to finish her thought because the bell rang, and the usual scramble to reclaim papers, books, and binders began. While Anne rooted around in her locker for her English supplies, Vaughn handed the notebook off to Syd, kissed her on the cheek quickly, and bustled off towards his first hour class. Sydney's friend emerged triumphant, and the two of them scurried down the hallway to their English classroom. "So," Syd started, immensely intrigued by this party, "are you going to Linda's party? It sounds pretty cool."

Anne's face immediately fell involuntarily, and her eyes diverted themselves to a wall full of blue lockers. "There're okay," She corrected, her tone unreadable. "I went to one freshman year, and it wasn't exactly my cup of tea. Not that I drink tea. Or even like it. If I need a caffeine boost, gimme a good old-fashioned can a' Coke."

It was painfully obvious that she was changing the subject, but Sydney let it drop. She had more important problems to deal with at the moment: where was she going to fasten her cameras? The reason they failed to work last time was that she had not dropped them in a secure location. Under the table? Anything on the floor of that school had a lifespan of two seconds — if it was lucky. Her mint cameras would have been no different. This time, though, she was determined to get a feed for as long as they lasted. In the bags she had taken from L.A. were about a hundred different type of cameras and other types of surveillance equipment. Among these, she had chosen six cameras that could be stuck to any surface and change color and texture almost immediately to match what they were fastened to. (Marshall, she remembered, introduced the notion as "optical camouflage.") Now all she had to figure out was how to place them without attracting attention

That conundrum was purged upon their arrival at the room. As the two-minute warning beeped, Tressaut got up from his computer and announced they were changing seats and no one should bother to sit down. Syd seized the opportunity. Waiting for Tressaut to vacate his desk and stride to the back of the room, Syd gripped two camera pads behind her back and stuck one on the wall behind his chair and the other on the clock panel next to it. Her teacher called her name then, and as she passed the television hanging from the ceiling next to his desk, she purposely smacked it with her shoulder, giving her the occasion to steady it with her hands and plant another camera. Risking a reputation as a complete klutz, she "tripped" over the leg of a chair, catching herself in the doorway with both hands and placing two more, one on each side. She collapsed into her new chair the back of the room and tagged her last one onto the functionless and always stationary second door behind her, feeling quite proud of herself.

Anne locked eyes with her from across the classroom, frowning exaggeratedly at their separation. Sydney's friend remarkably retained her former seat in the front of the room. Syd made no attempt to spin this negatively; she was more interested in holding Anne's attention long enough for the cameras to adapt to their surroundings. Mr. T. called the class to order and Anne dropped her eyes to her book, allowing Syd a quick glance at all six of her neatly placed surveillance devices.

"Please open your books to the reading you were supposed to do for today," the teacher was saying, flashing the graphic cover of _Fahrenheit 451_ at the class. They had just started it that week, having finished and written a lengthy essay on _War and Peace_ the week before. Sydney had never read their new book but Anne had, and subsequently went on to rave about it and how "wonderfully depressing" it was. This scared Sydney more than a smidgen. "Was there anything that struck you as odd—"

"Mister Tressaut!" The girl across from Sydney called, practically standing up in excitement as she waved her hand like a madman. Syd glanced up form her book and had to suppress a groan; it was Lara Andropov. Why in the world was she seated by her? Burying her face in her book, Syd briefed rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and wished for someone, _anyone_, to strike her down immediately. When Tressaut did not answer Lara continued, "It's _Friday_! Can't we do something _fun_?"

'_Would you like a little cheese with that wine?'_ Syd mocked maliciously in her head.

The teacher smiled softly at the annoyingly eager young girl. "Sorry, Lara, but we have to get this done. Maybe if we have some extra time but in college you don't get Fridays off. Fridays are _especially_ tough."

'_Or so they tell you. I personally wouldn't know,'_ Syd thought, immediately followed by a mental slap on the wrist. What was the matter with her? Why was she so cynical and sarcastic that morning?

"Anyway," Tressaut continued, clapping his hands together and turning back to the class at large. "Was there anything that struck you as odd about the reading? Vicky?"

"I thought that Clarisse character was really weird. She was all, like, dreamy and talkative and totally not normal. She was, like, weird."

"I disagree," Anne responded, swiveling around in her chair to face the latter and not bothering to raise her hand. "Clarisse had to be the most normal character we've met so far. She's blunt, she's idealistic, she's brave In a world where there are two-hundred-foot-long billboards, television walls, and you can get arrested for being a pedestrian, she's not afraid to walk down an empty street at night. Maybe she's not _their_ idea of normal, but she's _ours_." When she paused for a breath, Tressaut moved behind her and looked slightly impressed, but opened his mouth to cut her off. Sydney smirked; no one was fast enough to cut off Anne.

"I mean, look at the juxtaposition with Linda! Bradbury uses Clarisse to show us what a backward life the 'normal' people of F451 live. Linda is scared to death of books, idolizes people who destroy them, and barely makes any human contact. She's obsessed with a White Clown TV show, damn it!"

Sydney had to blink and rub her eyes to make sure they worked properly. Was this the same girl that had to be _forced_ into giving her opinion in class before? She thought passively, _'There must be something in the water today__'_

Turning in her seat again, Anne slouched down meekly and crossed her arms, shrouding her face with her fading red hair. "Sorry, Mister Tressaut," She mumbled into her chest. "I didn't mean to interrupt. Please continue."

His expression was unreadable as he ambled to the back of the room and closer to Sydney. She began trying to catch her friend's eye from across the space, oblivious to the expectant silence that pervaded it. Finally, Tressaut cleared his throat and asked pointedly, "How 'bout you, Jane? Did you find anything strange?"

Blush crept into her cheeks as she cast around in her memory for "something strange". For a literature major, pulling meanings out of a swirling hyperbole would have been no sweat, and this would be no different. Under normal circumstances. But Syd was immensely sleep-deprived, high-strung, spread thin, and not used to the one-on-one time that she received at this high school. She was scrambling, now, and as a last-ditch attempt, she drudged up her conversation with Anne about the book. "The Captain's storytelling," She blurted out, about as graceful as Homer Simpson doing ballet. Her blush deepened as she continued, "The way he basically re-wrote history and said that homes were always fire-proof and firemen always set fires and never put them out. He capitalized on the fact that without books, no one could refute him. That was _strange_."

"Good, Jane, good." He nodded, saying nothing about her near bumble. Lara snickered blatantly and, also in Sydney's line of sight, Anne smiled almost imperceptibly at the undercover agent from beneath her thick locks. "That was actually more along the lines of what I was thinking. Anyone know what historical fact the Captain changed involving firemen?" No one replied and he expanded, "Involving Benjamin Franklin?" Still no one answered. Sighing, Tressaut perched himself on the edge of a tall stool he kept in the back of the classroom. "Montag explains that it is fireman's lore that Benjamin Franklin was the first firefighter in America. This is another instance of Captain Beaty's timeline distortion. Moving on—"

"Uh, excuse me, Mister Tressaut?" Anne spoke up, this time half-heartedly raising her hand. In one movement, the entire class turned towards her, almost reluctant. "You're wrong."

In one movement the entire class gasped.

Sydney masked her confusion as she stared at the young girl, who remained glaring holes into the blackboard across the table while looking almost bored. It was completely within Beaty's character to change the course of history to comply with his will, to convince people that the way they lived was better than anything before. Why was Anne acting so out of character?

Continuing her interruption Anne stated clearly, "Benjamin Franklin _was_ the first American firefighter and also had a hand in establishing regulated fire companies. So you see, Beaty _was_ telling the truth." If it was possible, she slid down even farther in her seat without disappearing underneath the table.

In unison, the class swiveled around to face their teacher, waiting with bated breath for his reaction. He merely sat there, hands clasped over his knee and eyebrow raised slightly in bemusement. Finally he chuckled and leaned back against the wall. "And that, ladies and gentlemen," He pronounced, "is why I am an English teacher. My apologies, Anne." A smile, sickly sweet, spread across his lips, putting Sydney on edge. She knew immediately that he did not enjoy being corrected by anyone, let alone a seventeen-year-old _girl_. She knew when a person was hiding their anger, especially when that person was an amateur. It was residing right below the surface of his skin, threatening to burst forth in torrents at the tiniest pinprick. But Sydney shoved it out of her mind as they resumed class without a break in their well-established rhythm.

* * *

Sydney slumped in her seat at the front of the Chemistry room, one step away from twiddling her thumbs. Her father left the room to make copies or some other sundry task, leaving her alone until the rest of the agents arrived for their ritual Friday meeting. She knew she should start completing her pile of homework, but Spark Notes was bookmarked on her computer at home, and her American History book/attempt at an encyclopedia would effectively put her to sleep, and Marshall was going to do her math anyway, and she had memorized the answer key to her Chemistry homework — it was right there on the desktop — and, God, was her head pounding

"Do the Friday Dance!" Weiss banged open the heavy door to the room, cabbage-patching out of the way just before it whooshed closed behind him. He then proceeded to dance every single move that had gone out of style since his birth, including but not limited to the mashed potato, disco, hustle, robot, moon walk, and macarena. She just had to laugh, and he looked up in the middle of gyrating his hips. "Are you laughing at me? YOU? Miss 'Oh, I Sit in the Back of the Room So I Can Sit There and Feel Up My Boyfriend All Hour'? You have nothing — _nothing _— on me, my friend."

Still laughing at an insane pitch, Syd managed to squeak out, "Shut up and sit down." He continued to Bunny Hop over behind her father's desk and leaped onto his swivel chair, spinning 'round and 'round like a three-year-old with too much sugar. "What the hell has gotten into you, Weiss?" She asked incredulously, finally winning the battle with her giddy giggles.

Just then the door whooshed open again to reveal a defeated Vaughn. "T-G-I-freakin'-F," He muttered, tossing a lone notebook onto Sydney's lab table so hard that it skittered over the slick surface and plummeted to the floor.

"Took the words right out of my mouth," Weiss stated, still spinning maniacally. "So," He continued, "what crawled up your ass, had a party, and died?"

Vaughn issued a gravelly growl, looking dangerously close to hurling the nearest chair at his best friend. Instead he sat down with a heavy thump and replied scathingly, "Yer mom."

Sydney rolled her eyes and groaned while Weiss chuckled slightly. "Why does everyone say that after every single question? Half of the time it doesn't even make sense! It's just some filler meant to insult someone's mother or be funny. And it's not funny! All it does is sidetrack people by going off on a tangent or into fits of laughter. Maybe one of you can explain it, 'cause I'm not getting it. It's just It's stupid!"

"Yer mom's—" Thump. During Syd's harangue, Vaughn had stealthily made his way towards Weiss, and when his friend attempted to reply, stopped the chair from twirling, sending its occupant hurtling to the tile. He shot up almost immediately, rubbing his shoulder gingerly. "You know, I bet there's some C-4 or at least some strong hydrochloric acid layin' around this place. I'd hate to be you when I find it."

"Rest assured, Agent Weiss, it's in a place where you _won't_ find it." Her father stood in the doorway, a comical sight in jeans and a Glenfield sweatshirt over a white turtleneck. Sydney had not even heard him come in. Striding towards the two student/agents he admonished, "If you children are done, I'd like to get on with this; I believe you all have a football game to attend tonight."

The two males nodded quickly and scurried over to the chairs on either side of Sydney. Leaning forward in her seat she questioned, "But what about Dixon and Marshall? Don't we have to wait for them?"

Her father shook his head as he sat down in the recently vacated swivel chair. Also leaning upon his forearms, he folded his hands on the tabletop and replied, "Both have briefed me on updates during the day. I excused them because all we have to discuss is you three."

This unsettled Sydney's stomach more than the cafeteria's attempt at macaroni. The three younger agents glanced quickly at one another, unsure whether that was good or bad. Was there nothing to go over? No new news? Or did they do something wrong? Did information about Sydney and Vaughn get out? _Did Marshall blab to get students to like him?_ Sydney, being the only one who had the courage to speak to her father at this point, straightened in her seat and looked directly into his eyes. "What did we do?"

Surprisingly, he smiled back at her, almost amused at her seriousness. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "You worry so much, Sydney. You would do well to relax once in a while."

The glances between the three elongated to stares that straddled the line between confused and just plain scared. Simultaneously, the same thought struck each agent: _'The drug dealers have gotten to him.'_

Jack laughed a deep belly laugh, nearly giving his daughter's boyfriend a heart attack. "Don't look so shocked. This isn't permanent. I'm only using it as a lead-in to your next mission." Sydney blinked once and he was back to Normal Jack Bristow, perching rigidly on the edge of his seat, hands yet again folded in view on the tabletop. "This Saturday you will—"

"Wait a second," Sydney interrupted, holding a hand up in defiance. "What do you mean our 'next mission'? _We're already on a mission!_ Doesn't the CIA have agents in Chicago? Can't they do this? Or are they too f—" The familiar hand landing gently on her thigh was the only thing stopped her from continuing.

Her father maintained his stoic glare as she calmed herself down. "I think you'll rather enjoy this mission. This morning I heard rumours about an EWE Party hosted by one Miss Linda Schlesinger, whom I think you are acquainted with. From what I gather, anyone who's anyone will be there. Also, it's going around that Schlesinger is looking to enter the drug dealing business for extra money. Your assignment is to go to this party and gather all the information you can about her, who she's talking to, et cetera. Not too hard, now, is it Sydney?" He asked rhetorically, cocking an eyebrow.

Biting her lip to keep form sneering, she nodded complacently. She hated missions where she had to be around people who smoked; that was why she had been glad that Vaughn drew the part of the druggie and not her. But now she had to spend her Saturday night surrounded by them. Deciding to end this meeting as quickly as possible she asked curtly, "Do we need any Op-Tech from Marshall? Cameras, comm. links, Matchbox cars with a fiber-optic sheet on the top?"

Jack shook his head once, more than likely catching on to her cynicism. "That's all I have. Unless one of you has anything you'd like to share, we're done."

Syd could feel Vaughn's eyes boring into the side of her skull. In the back of her mind, she could hear him implore her to speak up about the cameras she placed that morning in English. Her own little voice answered in the negative, reasoning that she did not want to say anything until she knew for sure that he was up to something. Looking as wide-eyes and innocent as possible, she shook her head shortly.

All four rose at the same time, gathering their books and belongings in the process. Her father bid them all farewell and wished them luck in the halftime show.

The game went well. They played non-conference Plainfield: an even worse team than Glenfield. Everyone had said to wait 'til the next week: the Homecoming game was always against West Aurora, the only team in the DuPage Valley Conference that happened to be below We-Go in the standings. Sydney and Vaughn "mysteriously disappeared" again after the halftime show, resurfacing in time to witness Anne trying to teach Weiss the "Poncho Dance". Proceeding the game, another glorious night at Colonial was offered, but while Eric graciously accepted, Syd and Vaughn declined, citing that Syd's parents were home that weekend and Vaughn had business to attend to. Saying a jovial good-bye in the parking lot while Ed Zimmerman improvised jazz in the background, the couple sped off towards Syd's house.

"Here's a question for ya," Sydney said as they clomped into the house, depositing coats and books and backpacks and other miscellaneous odds and ends wherever there was a bare stretch of floor. Vaughn followed her expectantly as she traipsed into the kitchen to begin foraging for a pre-midnight snack. Cabinets banged open and closed until she found a box of frosted animal crackers. They were accompanied in her arms by two cold cans of caffeine-loaded pop as she lead them back into the family room. "If a train leaves Chicago at five PM going fifty-five miles per hour, and another train leaves New York at six PM going sixty-five miles per hour on the same track, will I ever get to see the inside of your apartment?"

Vaughn, who had been sitting forward and listening astutely, took a few moments to catch what she had said. She nibbled the ear off a pink rhinoceros while he contemplated a good answer. Glowering down at his fingers as they fumbled with the pop tab he answered slowly, "Is that really important right now, Syd?"

"No," She replied honestly, now biting off the entire head of the poor animal. "But since when did that mean anything? I just want to know."

He kept his eyes averted as he took a gulp from his can and set it back down on the coffee table, idly wiping the condensation from the sides. "Why? What's the big deal?"

Exhaling sharply, Syd abandoned the food all together and stared at her boyfriend in exasperation. "How long have we been going out now?" She demanded, garnering a sheepish, fleeting glance from him. "I know you're not still mad at me for questioning your loyalty. You have no excuses, Vaughn! You've slept over at my apartment how many times; I gave you a Goddamn _drawer_! And I've never even seen your building! Tell me that is equal sharing in a relationship, Vaughn. Tell me."

"Syd, I have my own question," He said softly, voice barely above a whisper. Reaching into the box, he extracted a white elephant and bit off one of its legs. Brandishing it for her scrutiny he questioned, "Does this bother you?" Not seeing his train of thought, she shook her head, eyebrows knotted together. Lowering his arm to rest on the table he continued, "Then why does our unbalanced relationship? Eventually one of us will get hungry enough—" He extended his appendage again, this time depositing the disfigured cracker into Sydney's waiting mouth "—and even it off. It'll all work out in the end."

She chewed over his statement as her jaws crunched on the snack. Over the months, she had grown accustomed to his extended — even extravagant — metaphors, but while she enjoyed them, she despised that he was usually right. Refusing to relinquish the point, she rushed to add, "But what if I'm hungry now?"

"Well, I don't think you want to see Michel Tibot's house." His lips lilted and an eyebrow raised, signaling the passing of his serious tone. "It's not in the best part of town."

"Sugarville has slums? _Sugarville_ has _slums_?"

"I don't think it's actually Sugarville. It might be unincorporated."

"Oh. Well that makes it all better." Their eyes locked and smiles exchanged. Not breaking the gaze, Syd swallowed a gulp of her pop. "By the way, that elephant really did bother me."

Vaughn's smile threatened to introduce his lips to his ears. "I know." She stuck out her tongue at him playfully, but he was quick enough to slap a pink giraffe on it, making her almost choke. As she recovered he continued, "You know, our kids are going to have a mother who's anal-retentive about things being equal."

"_Our?_" She teased lightly around the glob of half-chewed cracker. Swallowing she added, "Funny: I don't remember you ever complaining about being equal before." Her cheeks strained under the pressure of holding back her laughter as she popped another indiscernible cracker into her mouth, intent on sucking off the frosting. Abruptly, he crossed the space between them, framed her face with his hands, and sent their lips on a collision course, crashing them together like tempestuous waves. Sydney was briefly thrown for a loop, her eyelids cast as far apart as possible, but as one of his hands floated down to rest at her hip, she melded into the kiss and closed her eyes. Her fingers satisfied their longing to tangle themselves in the hairs on the nape of his neck. As the hand that had been stationed on her cheek crept around to the back of her head and tilted it upward, his tongue began beseeching her lips for entrance. She relented and his warm, wet tongue darted like a snake into her mouth, snatching the cookie as it was retracted just as quickly.

Vaughn disengaged contact and sat back on the couch, smugly chewing on her snack with a smirk on his slightly swollen lips. "Tasty."

Sydney glared at him, her lips still parted. Quicker than the flap of a hummingbird's wings, she grabbed a handful of crackers and hurled them at him as hard as she could. He merely let them hit him, flinching slightly when the majority hit his face. This only served to heighten her anger. "What the hell! I feel so used! So what was actually tasty, me or the damn cracker?"

"Well, of course the cracker," He scoffed in response.

Jumping up form the loveseat, she scooped up the box, clutched it to her chest, and stomped into the kitchen like a three-year-old child. "Now I guess I know how you _really_ feel. And to think I was going to give you a drawer here! Guess whose house is going to get TP-ed by a bunch of angry teenage girls? Yeah, that's right — y_ours_."

"Where would this 'drawer' be?" He called from the family room. "Your parents' room?"

"Damn straight. You think your smelly ghetto clothes will share a space with goody-two-shoe Jane Porter's girly crap? In your wet dreams. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got some homework to do."

"It's almost eleven-thirty. How much are you going to get done?"

"Okay, let me put this in terms that you will understand: _I'm not-so-subtly kicking you out of my house._"

Vaughn gasped in melodramatic shock. "What? How could you? I need to pick out that drawer! Or is it going to be assigned like the other one?"

"Shut up and get out, you lousy, good-for-nothing, cookie-stealing, lead-oning—"

"—Great sexing, damn fine, underwear model of a boyfriend?" He whispered softly in her ear, making her jump nearly a mile. He snaked his arms around her waist protectively from behind and hugged her closer to his torso.

Recovering quickly she pretended to resist his seductive advances and slammed the box down on the counter. "You wish," She countered sarcastically. "Now leave. You know where the door is. And don't let it smack you in the ass on the way out."

She could feel his warm, even breath on the outer shell of her ear, could practically feel his tongue swiping over the soft cartilage. But instead of taking her earlobe in between his teeth he asked in a voice two octaves lower than normal, "Do you know the slang definition of cookies?" Syd shook her head almost undetectably, knowing full well what he meant. Sensing a sly grin spreading across his face, she tensed as his fingers began toying with the hem of her shirt. "Well, then I guess I'll have to teach you. Lesson one: it involves a soft surface and being naked while horizontal."

Her own knowing smirk alighted upon her lips as she cocked her head slightly. "Oh really? Soft? The shower tiles aren't exactly _soft_. And horizontal? Please."

His hands flattened onto the rapidly heating skin of her midriff. "You sound like you know more than you're letting on. Who taught you all this?"

Spinning around, she answered in French, _"Le meilleur prof du monde."_

Vaughn lifted an eyebrow, intrigued. "And who might that be?"

Wordlessly, she tugged him towards her bedroom.

* * *

Sydney jolted upright sometime around three in the morning, thrown from her sleep by a subconscious reminder that she had forgotten to do something. Running through the past day's events in reverse, if she could have sat up any straighter, she would have. She forgot to check the feeds on the cameras she planted in Tressaut's room. Sliding out of bed onto the cold floor, she cast around for a pair of Vaughn's boxers and one of her sports bras, donned them, and jogged quietly through the house and down the basement stairs without bothering to turn on a light or to wake up Vaughn.

After pausing to assure her solitude, she yanked the chain on the bare bulb above the workbench, and a harsh, uncensored light illuminated the immediate vicinity. Her eyes immediately alighted upon a rusty toolbox directly to her left, and she pulled it towards her across the raw wood. She unlatched the lid, flipped over the tray of tools, and turned on the monitor. The screen stayed black, save for the green cursor almost invisible at the top. Syd typed in her ID number, the serial numbers of the six cameras she memorized before planting them, six different time frames — all after school — and hit enter. Six windows popped up on the small monitor and played different views of Tressaut's room in real time. Her eyes darted about, trying to see every little detail at once. A teacher would waddle in here and there but overall not much happened. She was about to give up and go back to bed when one camera caught her eye. From that specific angle, she could see Tressaut shutting off his computer and gathering his stuff, but he abruptly stopped as if someone had come into the room. Quickly noting the time frame at the bottom, she reset the rest of the feeds to the same time. Sure enough, as that same camera showed her English teacher packing up, the three cameras near the door showed someone walking into the room.

It was definitely a male under the baggy jeans and even baggier sweatshirt. His distinguished swagger carried him across the room and into view of the three cameras by Tressaut's desk. The two began talking rapidly in slang Spanish; Syd had to struggle to read their lips, as the cameras were not audio ready. They were discussing a shipment of some sort — the cargo must have been an understood topic because neither of them mentioned it by name — even went so far describe a date, time, and place. Syd scrambled to find a pad of paper and quickly recorded the information as the two ambled towards the door.

But before they exited the room, Tressaut stopped in front of the mysterious door. He extracted a ring of keys from his coat pocket, selected one, and fit it into the lock. Sydney eagerly secured her eyes on the window of the camera attached to the clock. The unknown man (boy?) stood just outside, holding the door, and waited for the teacher as he disappeared inside.

Thump.

She shut off the monitor, snapped the tool box closed, and whipped out an "emergency gun" from its storage spot under the tool bench. Tugging the chain, the basement was plunged into complete blackness, and Sydney relied on her memory to carry her to the staircase without running into anything. Miraculously, the stairs did not creak as she cautiously crept up with her back to the wall. The kitchen light shown through the crack between the basement door and its frame. As a last-ditch effort, she strained her ears to pick up any sound from the kitchen. Nothing. Taking a deep breath, she elbowed the door open and jumped up the last step, wielding the gun in front of her and yelling the basic, "Freeze!"

She came face to face with Vaughn and _his_ gun.

Sighing in exasperation, she lowered her weapon as he did the same, both breathing heavily. "What the hell, Vaughn. What are you doing up at this time of night — I mean, morning?"

"I could ask you the same thing," He responded, cocking an eyebrow as he laid his gun down on the kitchen table. "Was I really that bad? You had to go to the basement to get away from me?"

Sydney smiled wearily, raking her hair away from her face. "You're hilarious. Freakin' hilarious." She tossed the emergency weapon down on the table next to his, her tired and easily distracted eyes watching it spin idly.

He must have picked up on her inattentiveness because he crossed the kitchen and tilted his head so their eyes met. "What's up? Anything I should know about?" She looked away, wanting to do anything but go back downstairs and possibly discover yet another enemy to add to her Tolstoy-long list. Ever perceptive, he prodded further, "Is it something to do with the cameras from yesterday?"

Nodding, she reclaimed the gun and lead the way downstairs, this time turning on every light. She logged back on to the camera feed, set it to the time frame, and let it run. Vaughn took up a defiant stance as she replaced the gun under the bench, crossing his arms over his bare chest and standing with his feet shoulder width apart. She passively noted what a comical sight they must have made: both standing in a pair of his boxers and her in a sports bra. They looked like well, like they had just gotten out of bed. As the playback reached the point where she had been interrupted, Syd began to pay closer attention, taking up a stance similar to her boyfriend's.

Tressaut again disappeared through the never-used doorway and returned mere moments later with a tattered briefcase. He handed it off to the man and watched as he opened it and inspected the contents. They obviously met with his satisfaction because he soon snapped the case closed and shook hands with the teacher. While Tressaut relocked the door, the other man glanced about the room aimlessly, possibly checking for surveillance devices in the corners. Vaughn jumped at this. "Rewind the tape," He commanded, his voice echoing off the walls despite his soft volume. She did as she was told, backtracking about thirty seconds or so. Again when they approached Tressaut locking up, Vaughn started. "Pause it." The other man's face, greatly pixelated, stared blankly at the camouflaged camera. Turning to his girlfriend he asked, "Can you blow up his face? Maybe clean it up a little?" Guestimating at keystrokes and commands, Sydney faked her way into blowing up the second man's head so that it occupied a good portion of the screen. Sydney watched Vaughn's face carefully as it widened first at recognition then in shock. "Oh God," He whispered, his eyes still glued to the screen. "It's _El Papí:_ Pablo Calleros. He's the leader of the _Negro/Azuls_." His tone matched that of a disbelieving child repeating that his father had died. "I — I don't understand it; he rarely does deals by himself."

"How do you know it's a drug deal?"

"Oh come on, Syd!" Vaughn exclaimed, throwing up his arms in exasperation. He turned his back on the paused monitor and began to pace, his bare feet slapping the cold concrete harshly. "You _know_ that's what he was doing!"

"No _we_ don't!" She countered, also turning her back on the monitor. Leaning back against the bench she added, "You can_not_ assume **anything** with things like this, especially when it comes to a man's reputation. Calleros didn't show any sign that what was in the briefcase was drugs or money—"

"Don't be naïve, Sydney!"

Syd glared at him, utterly stunned. "Excuse me?" Vaughn ceased pacing, chest still heaving, and looked at her from under his eyebrows. She straightened up to her full height and tightened the arms across her chest. "I can't believe you just said that. I _cannot_ believe you _just said_ that! You're patronizing me again! Can we _not_ go through an argument without you treating me like I'm a three-year-old?"

"Syd, that's not what I mean! You're not looking at this objectively—"

"Oh, so now I'm just blind?" She cried, tossing her arms in the air exasperatedly. "You think I'm just some silly teenager with a crush on my teacher? You think I'm so head over heels for this man that I'd risk my _career_, even _my life_, for him? Sorry, _Michael_, but that position used to be saved for someone else. Seems like he doesn't want it anymore." Brutally, she slammed the toolbox closed and stormed up the stairs two at a time, trying to convince herself that the angry stinging around her eyes was due to tiny leprechauns shooting arrows at them. Practically crossing the entire house in three strides, Syd found herself back in her bedroom alone and in the dark. Changing out of his boxers and into a pair of her own underwear, she threw all the clothes of his she could find out into the hall, slammed the door, and crawled into the bed so that she lay in the exact middle. Those leprechauns were going at her full force, and now they were slinging some sort of liquid down her cheeks. _'They'd better stop soon,'_ She thought, _'or my pillow's going to be all soaked...'_

It seemed like hours before she heard the floor in the hallway creak. It stopped abruptly, and Syd knew he found his clothes. She could imagine him fingering them in the dark, pondering what to do. But then the doorknob screeched in protest, and the hinges squealed as the door slid open slowly. Sydney quickly pretended to be asleep, clutching the majority of the covers to her scantily clad frame. She heard the swish of fabric as his belongings floated to the floor alongside hers. Padding calmly to his side of the bed, he sighed heavily and punctuated the end with a gulp. Another moment of hesitation passed before he sank down onto the bed next to her back.

"Sydney " He started, strain evident in his voice. When she did not respond he continued, "I know you're not asleep; when you pretend, you close your mouth and squeeze your eyes."

Angry with him for being endearing during an argument, she raised her right hand and flipped him off over her shoulder.

Vaughn sighed again and shifted his weight so that he was sitting against the headboard. "I shouldn't have said what I did; it was mean and condescending, and I was just trying to push you buttons. But you've got to accept the fact that not every bad guy was presented to you before we went on this mission. Some of the adults aren't what they seem; hell, some of the kids aren't what they seem!" He paused, and she sensed that it was a very sensitive subject for him as well. Softening slightly, she shifted almost imperceptibly.

"I'm sorry that it had to happen to you, especially because it's a teacher that you obviously like. But there's nothing we can do about that now. We have to tell your dad." Again Vaughn hesitated, and Syd felt more than sensed his hand hovering over her bare arm: her hairs stood on end as if straining to touch him.

"I know you think it's unfair, and I know that you wish you hadn't planted those extra cameras in the first place. But I didn't do anything wrong. Well I did, but we already covered that." She smiled despite herself and shuttered slightly as she held in a giggle. "By the way, I see you laughing at me over there, so don't think I don't know," He added, his tone implying a playful grin. "I'm really sorry, Sydney. Am I forgiven?"

Instead of replying, Syd rolled over to face him. The moon had moved out from behind a cloud, and one of its beams had strayed into the room through the space between the shade and the wall. It fell across his face, illuminating his sincere green eyes. Still silent, she wrapped her arms around his middle and tangled their legs together. Then, covering them both with the sheets, she laid her head upon his chest and fell asleep to the sound of his calm heart.

That was all the answer he needed.

* * *

Following the example of the teens at the Street Dance (not to mention the eighth graders from Wal-Mart), Sydney dug through her closet and found the most appropriate clothes for a party as she could find: jeans that were a little tighter in the rear than she would like and a shirt that was a little less revealing than she would like. She took a pair of scissors to the shirt, giving it a neckline that would make Britney Spears jealous. After marveling yet again at her wardrobe, she slathered on make-up quite liberally, trying her best to emulate the smoky-eyed style. _'I'm just grateful I don't have to dye my hair or wear a wig,'_ She remarked in her mind, donning a pair of flip-flops to complete the outfit. (They were the newest craze; everyone had them. Girls compared how many they had in how many different colors. So of course Sydney had to go out and buy herself a pair. Well, several pairs, but who was counting?)

The three agents agreed to arrive at the party separately and at different times. Since no Op-Tech was necessary, they had no need to coordinate frequencies, dead drops, or anything. This left them basically on their own to gather information, socialize, and have fun. _'And if it just so happens that Jane finds Michael "fun"__so be it,'_ Syd decided, getting into her car and speeding off.

She had to park three blocks away from Linda's house because of all the cars. Walking quickly on numbing feet, she began to hear the bass pounding from only two blocks away. At one block, shrieks of laughter and shouts of joy echoed off the houses, giving her a second clue as to the magnitude of what she was getting herself into.

When she strode up to the house, people were already passed out on the lawn. _'Great. Just great.'_

Approaching the door with hesitation, Sydney inhaled deeply and was almost smacked in the head when ten teenagers toppled through the doorway squealing in delight. Forgetting all pretense (and not willing to risk another near-death experience), she quickly slid through the front door and into the house.

The only thing she could hear or feel was the music pouring from the speakers. It was a rap song most definitely, but indiscernible beyond that. The bass made the floors shake, the windows rattle in their frames, and her teeth vibrate with electricity. Teenagers were crawling all over the front room, dancing and grinding and lap dancing? Deciding to leave that alone, Syd wound her way through the writhing masses to the kitchen.

She remembered her first frat party. The lame pick-up lines, the insecurity, the strangers, the beer everywhere, the washtub of tequila masked as punch Not a very pleasant experience.

This was not a frat party.

It was forty-seven times worse.

Even the kitchen was saturated with sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll: girls not three feet away from each other perched on the counter, moaning into their partners' mouths while the guys' hands roamed under their shirts. Three coolers stood open near the refrigerator, the long necks of frosty Budweiser bottles protruding through the ice like crags in the ocean. Next to the fridge, teenagers circled about a round table in various stages of undress, wielding and trading red playing cards like pros in Vegas. A beer keg sat on an end table by the backdoor, never lonely for long. Jamming the doorway, a swarm of teenagers were trying to crowd themselves onto the minuscule back patio. Syd could detect a hint of "happy" smoke even as she stood at the threshold to the front room.

'_This party is one funky brownie away from a stereotypical teen movie,'_ She thought as she backtracked through the front room and followed cheers of encouragement down the stairs into the basement. _'Ah ha, jackpot. Or should I say, __**jock**__pot.'_ This seemed to be the place where all the heavy-drinking, football-playing, testosterone-filled students congregated with their heavy-drinking, cheer-leading, air- and silicon-filled girlfriends. At the moment, one of the former group was benching two hundred pounds of iron to the rhythm of about ten of his buddies' chanting. The smell that permeated the air was incredible; Sydney almost gagged when it hit her. It was a mixture of vomit, beer, hair gel, and sweat in uneven and ever-changing ratios. She was about to climb up the stairs and rejoin the Sexual Crowd when she spotted a familiar face swimming in the back of the room. Nearly crying out in relief, she made a beeline for him, knocking more than one bottle of half-finished beer to the floor.

"Eric! God, I'm glad to see you!"

"Jane? What the hell?" He stashed his beer precariously on a table and pulled her even farther into the corner. "A: what are you doing here? B: _my name is Greg._ Am I the only one who gives our covers any weight whatsoever?"

"Sorry Greg," She corrected, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear as she peered cautiously over her shoulder, "but I was _so extremely happy_ to see you. Do you have any idea what those kids are doing upstairs?"

"Yeah, that's why I came down here," He answered pointedly, leaning back against the wall nonchalantly. "I thought, you know, maybe I'd catch the last period of the Kings' game, but then all the guys from the football team followed me, and of course their girlfriends tagged along, so that was pretty much shot to hell. Then someone suggested a benching contest, and that's where we are now. So," Weiss stalled, taking in the mildly chaotic scene before him with a disinterested air, "I ask again: what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be with the goody-two-shoes bunch? Possibly drinking ginger ale?"

Syd rolled her eyes sarcastically and leaned back against the wall as well. "First of all, I drink with the best of them — and that includes hard liquor, Mister 'I Only Drink Malted Imports'. Second, I don't think 'goody-two-shoes' even bother showing up to parties."

"Not true," He disputed, raising a fist in the air as one of his buddies finished lifting and took a swig of someone's bottle. "There's a room for the designated drivers set up on the second floor. Not that anyone's in there; I think they all left. There's no point to a party like this if you're not going to drink."

"Whoever said teens were irresponsible was completely off the mark," She supplemented as one of the smaller boys suddenly doubled over and emptied the contents of his stomach onto another's shoes. The latter, disgusted, shoved the sick student into the wall, whereupon the poor kid hit his head, slumped to the floor, and passed out. Bigger Guy merely shook off his shoe, wiped it on the underside of the couch, and returned to his friends. Sydney grimaced at the scene and commented, "Man, these kids really need to learn how to hold their liquor." Weiss looked at her like she had sprouted an extra head, but Syd just shrugged it off. "Have you see Vaughn yet?" She asked almost hesitantly, not quite knowing if she wanted to hear the answer.

Eric shook his head imperceptibly, folding his arms solidly over his chest. "He wasn't around when I got here, but you never know I didn't exactly check outside, either, if you catch my drift "

Syd's stomach churned uneasily at his insinuation. She had not checked outside, either

"Well now that you're here," Weiss continued, standing up straight and gesturing towards the rest of the guys, "might as well hang out with us. Grab some beers from upstairs and cop some bench."

After a passing glance of astonishment, she trooped up the stairs, discreetly shielded her eyes from the front room, and grabbed an armful of dripping beers from a cooler. She balked for moment, halfway out of the kitchen and blocking the entryway. The door to the back patio looked immensely inviting. She could toss something outside and pretend to chase after it; if she accidentally ran into Vaughn, then so be it

Struggling to keep her urge under control, Sydney forced herself back down the stairs to the awaiting mass of sweaty teenagers. A few of them called out to her, and she slung the bottles around the room, keeping one for herself and another for Weiss. Popping open the cap, she took a long drag of the cool liquid, letting the icy chill it brought spread throughout her system. She had never been a fan of beer, but as it was the only thing offered and Jane probably wanted to fit in, she would take what she could get. Pulling the bottle away from her lips, she sighed and wiped the condensation onto her heated forehead: the temperature of the basement had risen as a result of the overly-cocky males trying to show off in front of their girlfriends.

Weiss nearly gagged as she downed the rest of her bottle in her second gulp. "Simmer down there, killer! Take it easy! You drove here, right?" He questioned, pulling her aside yet again. She nodded placidly, signaling for another beer from the umpteenth jock to join their little group. Digging into one of his bottomless cargo pockets, he extracted a tall, think vial of white powder. Ignoring her quizzical look he explained, "There were rumors circulating back in the eighties that the Russians had developed a drug that allowed their agents to drink longer and harder than any other spy could. Of course this wasn't true: the KGB might have had the best weapons specialists in the world, but we had the best chemists. It was a rumor started by the CIA to stir up anti-Russian sentiments; we were the real ones with the drug. Up until last year, it was really expensive to produce, and that's why agents weren't equipped with it on a regular basis. But that was before SD-6 was taken down and Marshall was added to the payroll "

"So you're saying that Marshall came up with a way to mass-produce this stuff?" She summed up, fingering the phial and letting its contents shift around like powdered sugar.

Eric nodded, cautiously glancing around at the rowdy teenagers. "I was supplied with a large dosage when we first came out, and Marshall brought even more when he was assigned. I gave some to Vaughn yesterday before the game. Hopefully he's using it tonight." Exhaling heavily, he turned back to his fellow agent, who was still staring at the vial, mulling over its origins. "Well, what are you waiting for, an 'Eat Me' sign? Take it!"

She shook it again, still uneasy. What if it failed, she ended up drunker than a twenty-one-year-old on his birthday, and got herself killed when she tried to drive herself home? She had a feeling that no cab company regularly serviced small suburbs. Getting drunk was not an option. Turning over the phial once again she queried, "Are you _sure_ this works?"

He rolled his eyes impatiently. "Ideally, you're supposed to take it as a pill an hour before you drink, but I crushed up a few of 'em 'cause I didn't know what to expect here. I put a little pinch in my first beer, and I'm more sober than when I'm around your dad. I think it works."

"How many have you had?"

"Seven—" He downed the rest of the liquid in his present bottle and belched lewdly "—make that eight."

"_Eight?_ Do you have a death wish, Eric?"

"It does its job, alright? Now tip a little in and drink up."

Still a twinge apprehensive, she unscrewed the cap and let about half a gram fall through the neck of her beer. She watched it dissolve seamlessly: no bubbling, no hissing, no sign that anything had been added at all. Swirling it around like a glass of the finest red wine, she finally took a swig, and immediately noticed the lack of a buzz that usually kicked through her body. She pulled back, stared at the bottle for a moment and stated, "Not bad. Thanks Eric. And remind me to tell Marshall that he is a god."

Just as Sydney was recapping the vial and slipping it into her back pocket, an exaggerated gasp reached her ears. She looked up sharply to see Anne standing not ten feet away, looking completely out of place in a pair of jean flares and a lacey black peasant shirt. Her hands dug deeply into her pockets, making her look even more stout than normal. She advanced towards them with surprisingly strong strides, stepping over the still unconscious boy. "Jane?"

Syd stared at her friend with amazingly wide eyes. She was unsure of how much she had heard — _and_ seen. "Anne!" Sydney finally replied, struggling to keep her insecurity in check. "I thought you weren't gonna come. What're you doing here?" Allowing herself a quick glance at Eric, she shoved her own hands into her back pockets, fingering the phial protectively.

"I could ask you the same thing," Anne countered with surprising vengeance. Sydney could practically feel the venom searing through her clothes and skin. "Anyone care to explain the oh-so-obvious drugs? I mean I expected it from Michael but you two—" She was apparently too disgusted to continue, because she merely shook her head and scoffed.

"I suppose you got the stuff from Linda. I saw her dealing with a few guys outside. Man, when you got friends like these " She trailed off again.

Sydney began to panic, not because they had been slightly discovered, but because she could have been in the process of losing a very dear friend. Looking to Weiss for support, he matched the ladies' stance and cleared his throat while he grappled with words. "Anne, we weren't we weren't really _doing_ well, I mean it _looks_ like we're—"

"Damn straight, it looks like you were!" Anne exclaimed. "And don't you talk to me either, Stone: I saw you give her the stuff. God, I thought you two weren't like the others. Goes to show you can't trust even your closest friends." Seeming to be too frustrated to continue, she made a quiet exit, darting in between the taller guys with her head held high.

Without looking at Eric, Syd sped off after her, having more difficulty because of her height. Taking the stairs two at a time, she rushed through the front room, the door, and out into the cool night air. She finally spotted her friend striding down the street in the same direction as Sydney's car and ran to catch up to her. Anne ignored her presence, moving down the asphalt in a gait akin to a gallop. "Anne, it really wasn't what it looked like," Syd began lamely, struggling to find the right words.

Anne kept up her pace and answered, "That's what they all say, Jane; believe me, I've heard them. And they all turn out to be lying assholes. Why should you be any different? Because you're _new_? Sorry, _chica_, but that's not the way it goes around here. You don't get to use lame excuses."

"What's so bad about this?" Syd retorted suddenly, the words flowing out of her mouth before she could check them. "You were completely accepting of Michael and his faults."

Anne stopped abruptly and lifted her chin in defiance. _"He didn't lie to me."_ Her words dripped with emotions, malice being the most prominent. But her eyes told a different story. If Sydney looked into them the right way, she saw a pain so deep that it had no bottom. The rest of her face was stone cold but her eyes they made _Sydney_ turn stone cold. That something so powerful could be felt for something so trivial — it threw Syd for a loop, and she did not know how to respond. Anne pursed her lips and nodded knowingly, breaking eye contact with her friend as if she were bored of this game. "Just leave me alone, Jane. Go back to Stone and your druggie friends, and while you get high, _try_ to imagine what it feels like to be me." With that, Anne walked away from Sydney, down the street, and into the shadows.

She knew she should follow her friend — a female walking alone at night was never a good idea — but she had a feeling that she could take care of herself.

Instead she strolled back towards Linda's house with her hands shoved deep into her pockets. _'Great. Just great,'_ She thought sarcastically as she kicked a stone down the road. _'This is just what I need to make this weekend complete. I can't drink it off either: not even if I wanted to. Stupid Weiss and his breakthrough drugs__'_

Syd entered the house and this time stopped at the doorway to observe the scene, more out of exhaustion than want. Horny teens were still grinding and feeling each other up on the dance floor, and the vibrating, pounding bass still made her stomach tip and turn. But then she noticed something that had not been visible before.

There was a couch underneath the windows facing the street. She could not see it before because a gaggle of scantily clad girls who were probably trying to "service" someone sitting there. Now there were about seven guys lounging on and about the sofa, striking masculine poses like they were on an MTV rap video. Something held her attention to that spot, and she continued to stare at them expectantly. Then one of the guys turned his head to face her.

It was Vaughn.

Her face immediately lit up, and Anne's previous guilt trip dissolved. As she began to slip through the crowd, though, another girl reached him first. Sydney stopped dead in her tracks. They talked for a moment before the unidentified girl took the initiative and straddled his lap. Paralyzed with horror, Syd could only watch while she gave him a lap dance. The guys around him hooted and whistled their encouragement. She began backing away towards the door, more disgusted than she had been in a long time, but they seemed to follow. He stood abruptly, took her by the hand, and started to guide her through the crowd to the staircase that lead to the second floor. A strangled cry spewed from her throat as they reached the foot and paused for a moment; the girl was telling a friend not to wait for her.

Vaughn happened to glance towards the door.

They locked eyes.

She gave him the most loaded, most repugnant, most sickened look that she could muster.

His eyes widened to the size of saucers, pleading with her from across the room.

The girl turned around to face the door as well.

It was Lara Andropov.

Lara's face erupted in a gleeful smirk as her hands drifted over Vaughn's body, resting ever so shortly on the fly of his jeans.

As quickly as his face had contorted, it returned to its former silky smoothness.

He allowed her to lead him up the stairs.

At that point the spell was broken. Sydney tore out of that house like Death was on her heels, found her car in seconds, and sped away towards her house. Her face was stoic, emotionless; the only thing that alluded to the tempest of emotion raging inside her was the way she gripped the steering wheel. Her knuckles were as white as a blank sheet of paper, and some part of her consciousness wondered if her hands would not be stuck like that for the rest of her life.

She did not know how or when she arrived back at her house.

She unlocked the door after missing the keyhole three times.

She stowed everything where it ought to go: coat in the closet, purse on the ledge, keys beside it, shoes on the mat.

She made her way to her bedroom and undressed.

She only allowed herself to cry when she slipped into his side of the bed.

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

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**_

**Chapter Fifteen:** Homecoming Part I  
**Chapter Sixteen:** Homecoming Part II

Hope you enjoyed!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	15. Homecoming Part I

**You know the drill...**

**Chapter Genre:** Angsty funness

**This Chapter:** Aftermath, the week of Homecoming, and the Big Game

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "The Worst Day Ever" by Simple Plan, "Million Miles" by Fuel, "Breathe" by Melissa Ethridge

**Author's Note: **Hey! We've passed the hundred-page mark, everyone! Party down! Anyways, enjoy the multitude of band funness in this chapter. It is the only part I actually think is semi-okay. The next chapter is where the funness increases exponentially, what with the crazy dance and such. Let's just say you're in for amazing fluffy/angsty funness. And if you didn't guess, the word for today is funness.

* * *

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Fifteen: Homecoming Part I**

To say the next week was a horrible, grotesque, brain-crunching, heart-tearing, arm-in-a-meat-grinder walk through Hell would be an understatement.

To say that it 'sucked like a mother' would pretty much sum it up.

Vaughn did not call. Vaughn did not drop by so she could slam the door in his face. Vaughn did not communicate with Sydney in any way, shape, or form at any time that Sunday. Instead, she completed all of her homework (even her math; she called to inform Marshall, and he sounded more than a little disappointed), practiced her flute for two hours, watched a baseball game, completed her on-line cooking tutorial (she now knew what the difference was between a tart and a tort), and read the first three Harry Potter books cover to cover. Still, when eight o'clock rolled around, Syd found herself sitting on the couch in the family room twiddling her thumbs. She was restless, and while reading the rest of the Harry Potter series and continuing on to the Lord of the Rings crossed her mind, it did not appeal to her sense of adventure. Boring described the entire day; all those activities were just busywork, like when her America History teacher assigned questions from the book so he could finish grading papers.

She would do anything to keep her mind away from what else she could be doing — and who she could be doing it with.

The school week was even worse.

Monday morning started off on the wrong foot. Without Vaughn to rouse her, Sydney woke up at six thirty and missed her opportunity for a spot at Entrance A. She grabbed money for lunch, her homework, and her gym clothes and rushed out the door sans a shower. Thankfully, she was able to grab one of the last spots at Kerr McGee before the circling sophomores snatched them up. She made the pilgrimage from the faraway parking lot alone in the unending stream of students. While they chatted with each other loudly and amicable about the weekend (she even heard mentions of the EWE party), every one completely ignored her. Her heart fell at this. Before, she never realized how few people she knew at this school. Not until the people she _did_ know broke their ties with her.

The grass slick with dew proved to provide little traction, and Syd struggled to remain upright as she slid down the hill towards Entrance A. Disregarding all semblance of sanity, she began sprinting down the steep incline, dodged a bus in the bus lane, and flew into the school. Once she had flashed her ID to the security guard and dropped her belongings at her locker, she slunk down to Commons rather reluctantly. Although she was grateful she had no need to find somewhere to sit by herself, the last thing Syd wanted to do was help Emcee a 'Morning Game' run by the honorary members of Student Council.

So why was she doing it?

Because Jane was a goody-goody and would want to be part of the week's festivities.

Because it was Homecoming Week.

Fireworks were exploding in joy every minute inside her head.

The theme this year was "We Go Through Time." Freshmen had the twenties; sophomores the seventies; juniors the fifties; and the eighties belonged to the seniors. Syd cringed when she heard; and just when she thought things could not get much worse they did. Immeasurably. She saw the list of activities for that week. Monday was wear the class colour day; Tuesday students dressed up in clothes from their favourite decade; Wednesday was twin day; Thursday signaled dressing as the respective class's decade; and Friday was blue and white day. Every morning, the Student Council held 'Morning Games' to bolster school and class spirit, and while a majority of the students merely showed up to watch the jocks make idiotic fools of themselves in the worst games ever contrived, _every_ Student Council member needed to be there, honorary or not.

Somehow Syd survived the hour or so before school and lived to troop to English. First hour that Monday was her first glimpse of Anne since she stormed into the darkness Saturday night. Her friend avoided her gaze for the entire period, and when Syd tried to approach her during band, all she received in return was one of the frostiest gazes she had ever seen in her life. Weiss, leaning against the doors to the choir room and waiting for Vaughn, also tried to communicate with Anne, but to no avail. Syd looked to her fellow agent for support, and he opened his mouth to offer a small word of encouragement when the doors slammed behind Syd, and Vaughn strode in. Denying him the dignity of a glance, Syd swept away into the band room as the warning bell rang.

The day continued on in much the same rut. Since Anne still ignored her very existence, Sydney dined alone in a corner of Commons by the counselors' office. She purchased a soggy turkey wrap from the cafeteria, but soon abandoned the mayonnaise-laden mess for the detailed diagram she was drawing on the back of her American History notebook. She arranged all four people involved in a square and used differently colored pens to connect them: blue if they were speaking, red it they were not. Then she added class/passing periods where they could see each other in green, labeling the line with the hour. Pretty soon, she had a mess on her hands. Brain aching, she decided to give up any attempt at thinking more than five minutes ahead, dumped her uneaten lunch in the trash, and used the back exit to retreat to library until seven/eight.

Clark wanted to take full advantage of the pristine weather; therefore the class spent the period outside. While Syd strained to keep her pace to a fast walk, Anne surprised her by easily lapping the agent, running eight laps in all before the hour was over. To occupy herself, Sydney mentally recited every Emily Dickinson poem she could remember. Every so often she would glance over towards the concession stand, and once she thought she saw a shape disappear around the corner. Angrily she brushed it off as her discombobulated mind playing tricks on her.

Ninth hour, what she was really dreading, approached faster than she liked. She had no idea if her father knew what transpired that Saturday night. After she cried her fill, she had no desire to phone her father and rehash the entire ordeal, trying to maintain the even keel of the typical agent. Having no occasion yet to speak at length with Weiss, she only assumed he failed to debriefed with Jack as well. She had no desire nor care of Vaughn's standing with her father.

The seating arrangement for this class period was most interesting. Usually her father had no specific seating chart for his students, so she doubted he would make a scene if any of them traded seats with other students. She circled the second floor until the warning bell beeped and, creeping into the room amidst a crowd of grumbling juniors, grabbed a seat at the front of the room between Elle Burns and Danielle Ling. Anne strode in chatting with John Motz and fellow flautist Sam K. They all took seats in the middle of the room on the opposite side of the aisle without deigning her a look. Weiss and Vaughn squeaked in as the final bell rang, scurrying to sit with Tony Villas, a football player, in their regular seats at the back of the room.

If her father noticed, he let nothing on. He merely pulled a stool up to the overhead in front of his desk and dictated notes to them the majority of the hour. About ten minutes before the end, he paused to hand out their homework. Instead of throwing stacks of papers at the front row to pass back, he took the time to hand them out individually. Syd found this suspicious and with good reason: when she began leafing through her packet, she occasionally found letters circled lightly in pencil. Quickly, she deciphered her father's code and sighed; apparently no one had told him what happened at the EWE party, and he was getting anxious.

Not wanting to be the one to tell him, she jotted down a simple number-coded note onto a scrap of paper and tossed it into the recycling bin as he approached his desk. As the bell rang and the students filed out, she saw him take Weiss aside from the mass of students. She outwardly smiled for the first time in two days.

The day had been shortened due to the Meet the Candidates assembly which, of course, she had to attend. She saw Weiss near the top of the bleachers with the rest of the football team. Anne and Vaughn were nowhere to be seen. Not really interested in who was nominated (she knew none of them, anyway), she merely sat with the rest of the Council and discretely did her homework.

Unfortunately, the rest of the week continued on this same steep downward spiral. She woke up late consistently every day that week, forcing her to begin taking showers at night. The morning games became increasingly weird: the last straw was when a freshman threw up on her shoes after coming in second in the Goldfish Eating Contest. Literally tossing the soiled boots, she slipped on her gym shoes but refused to return to the Council's games. Instead, she retreated to the library and browsed the stacks until the bell rang.

Anne continued to ignore both Sydney and Weiss for the majority of the week, speaking civilly, but without warmth, when they were forced into contact. She was spotted more often than not with Vaughn and a few other band members that rotated regularly depending on the time of day. They laughed and talked blithely in mixed French and English — Franglish — and Vaughn even taught her a few 'useful' phrases.

Not that Syd was stalking Vaughn.

It was more like following closely.

She was a spy, after all.

Others gathered information as well, and were not exactly shy when extolling it: Katie Goode, Summer, Henry, Joe Hall, the girl who sat three rows over and two seats back in American History...

In other words, the rumor mill churned them out and the grapevine leaked them along. Rumors about Vaughn. Rumors that said he and Lara had been spotted together — _multiple times_. That the two _did_ have sex that night at the party. That they were officially A Couple.

She could not be sure of their validity, but every myth had a basis in truth. Hopefully that base was narrower than a pin's head, easily conquered, and with the merest hint of a breeze toppled over into ruin, the remains crumbling into dust and carried away by the same breeze, returning things to the way they were before.

But for now, she opted to stay angry and wait for him to come to her with an explanation; this time, she would not force the issue, no matter how slowly it gnawed at her brain or corroded her gut. 'Til then, she would bite her tongue — just a hair softer than needed to cleave it in two — and walk on with her head held high.

That motto was steadily and covertly tested throughout Homecoming Week, but on Friday, the day of the Big Game, all pretense of secrecy and sneakiness was shed and the full wrath of Hell unleashed itself upon her. After yet again waking up late and yanking on her wrinkled band shirt, she went to fire up her car, munching placidly on an apple and...

Clink. Clink. Clink. Clunk.

The damn car refused to start.

Panicking, she called Weiss's cell only to discover he was already at McDonald's picking up breakfast with Mike Holcomb and Joe Hall. He suggested calling someone else from band, but Joe stole the phone from him and put in his two cents.

"Yo, J to the Pizzle — hey, that's pretty damn funny! — anyways, everyone's already at school saving a parking spot by Entrance A. But you might wanna try the bus — or the bizzle, as we like to call—"

"Take the bus," Eric cut him off, and hurriedly hung up.

Sighing in resignation, she shrugged on her backpack, scooped up her uniform bag, and practically sprinted to the bus stop, having seen the giant yellow 'bizzle' pass her street as she talked with Weiss and Joe. Once she boarded, she immediately regretted it. It was worse that strolling through the popular freshman hallways unprotected. Shrieks echoed in her ears as pens and even books whizzed by her cheek. The all-too-familiar smell of happy smoke wafted towards her seat from the rear of the vehicle. Sharp swears sliced through the perpetual string of freshman girl gossip. The seat she grabbed was directly behind the heater, which, unfortunately, was running at full power despite the warm weather. And the old, probably senile bus driver did nothing about anything. Accepting her lot — and projecting that this would probably be the highlight of the day — she leaned her forehead against the window and slept until they jerked to a stop in front of Entrance A.

Abandoning any notion of aiding in yet another misguided attempt at a Morning Game, Syd crammed everything but her necessities for first hour into her locker, and calmly trooped down towards Senior Hall. With any luck, Anne would be there — sans both Vaughn and Weiss — and they could talk things over.

She should have known better than to trust to luck — it seemed to have forsaken her that week. Anne was nowhere in sight, but occupying their usual spots in the circle, if a bit set off from the rest, Vaughn and Weiss happily chatted away in between bites of their greasy, mass-produced, wonderfully smelling breakfast. (Her stomach growled lewdly, remembering the meager, half-eaten apple it received earlier.) Abby was the first to recognize her, and waved energetically until Summer elbowed her sharply in the side and shook her head once. As if she remembered some unwritten rule, she quickly disregarded Sydney and returned to her AP Chemistry homework. Weiss, being perceptive for once, looked up from his half-eaten hashbrowns and saw his fellow frazzled agent, looking slightly better than oatmeal the second time around. He flicked his eyes toward the ceiling — indicating the third floor — and before Vaughn could turn and see her, she disappeared around a corner and retraced her steps upstairs.

Ten minutes later, Weiss staggered up the stairs and through the fire doors to collapse onto the tile at Syd's side. Cocking an eyebrow at her only remaining friend in high school, she gave him a once over and asked, "Aren't you supposed to be in some kind of shape?"

Breathing heavily and clutching at his chest melodramatically he replied, "Football — here? — Kidding — me! — Blocker — NO!"

She snorted and offered him a half smile, and his breathing leveled quickly. Crossing her arms over her stomach, she refused to look him in the eye, and instead stared down at her shoes. "What was that about? The whole not acknowledging me thing? Am I a taboo topic down there?"

He sighed and also averted his gaze, twiddling his thumbs in his lap. "We're both kind of taboo topics. That's why Vaughn and I weren't really sitting with them. They somehow found out about the EWE Party, and have obviously chosen to see it Anne's way. They're talking with Vaughn, and that's the only reason I'm even allowed to sit near them. Otherwise I'd be...alone up here with you." They locked eyes, and he smiled reassuringly.

Shifting her position she asked casually, "So how are things?" Her aloof tone suggested she was not so; it had an undercurrent of hidden meaning, like a lemon wedge chasing a tofu square.

Apparently it was a minuscule lemon wedge because he answered, "Okay. Not particularly looking forward to the game tonight, but hey, maybe Stone'll actually put me in." Without moving her head, she glared at him out of the corner of her eye. Finally understanding, he bumbled to recover himself. "Oh! By things you mean Vaughn! Gotcha! Yeah, he's doing fine, too." She slapped a hand to her forehead and hugged her knees to her chest, one step away form rocking back and forth. He bit his cheek a moment before adding, "You wanted something better than that, didn't you?" She nodded vigorously. "Well, there's not much to say. I mean, I don't exactly know if the rumors are true—"

"What?" She exclaimed, sitting up straight against the lockers. "You mean you've never asked him? Not once this entire week?"

"I've never felt the need to," He replied pointedly. "I trust him, Syd. I trusted he had a good reason for contacting those former KGB members a few months back. I trusted he knew what he was getting into when he started a relationship with you. When I didn't trust him, I got burned, and was wrong anyway: I don't know if you know this, but I was the one who suggested he be replaced as your handler. That was the only time when I forgot it's _his life_; he knows what he's doing.

"Hell, Syd, he could be doing something for your father! More than likely: that man's number one prerogative is the demise of Michael Vaughn.

"My point is, he's probably as innocent as his life before me; you're overreacting; and yet again, I'm caught in the middle. Thanks again for that, Syd."

"But," She started, her groggy brain stumbling to process his monologue, "why hasn't he said anything to anyone?"

Weiss rolled not only his eyes but his entire head. "Did you ever think he was ordered not to?"

"Since when have we done anything we were _ordered_ to?"

"Would you mess with the father of your girlfriend if you were him?"

She shut her open mouth with an audible pop, put off that her boyfriend's (strange that she still thought of him as that) best friend knew her situation better than she thought. Refusing to concede that he might possibly have a point, she recrossed her arms over her chest and said defiantly, "Well, I'm still going to wait until he says so himself. I trust him with all my heart, but—" She paused, stubbornness blocking the road from her brain to her mouth "—I need him to give me a reason to. He knows he can tell me anything, but he needs to get it through his thick head that he can _tell me secrets_. Isn't that the point of a girlfriend?"

"I wouldn't know."

"Yeah, that's what I'm going to do: wait," She continued, completely ignoring his slight aside. "If Vaughn wants me to trust him completely, he's going to have to give me something to go off of. And you can quote me on that. In fact, please do: tell him what I said."

"Why don't you tell him?"

"Because I'm not talking to him!"

"Gah!" He exclaimed, jumping up from the floor as the first bell rang. "Drama, Syd! Get rid of it! You're making this way more complicated than it needs to be. Just...you're making my brain hurt. I give up. You're like one of these teenagers, for Christ's sake!" With that, he gathered his belongings and practically jumped down each flight of stairs towards the first floor. Syd, on the other hand, waited for the two minute warning, upon which she adopted a fast walk towards Tressaut's room.

Lara had been an exceptional jerk that week, and the day of the Big Game was no exception. For the past four days, she had been sitting across from Sydney with her legs crossed daintily, shoulders back, small teenage chest protruding expertly, and answering every question Tressaut threw her way. Without even trying hard, she pushed Syd to the end of her tolerance daily before the bell rang and pulled her back from the brink. Group work? Forget about it: Lara went out of her way to exclude the agent, ostracize her overtly, and rub in the newest rumors twisted into being every few seconds or so. Syd gave up on participating at all in English — especially when sitting across from Lara. Instead she spent the hour fantasizing about tying the girl's shoelaces together with her toes, cracking her vertebrae so she was paralyzed, and putting a weight on the hollow of her throat just heavy enough so she was unable to talk. These thoughts brought a wry smile to her face and sustained her for the hour.

Band on a Friday meant insanity of the largest proportions. Add to that band officer elections — merely titles, as all they did was act as Guter's bitches, and representatives reported back to their respective classes on upcoming events — and the word 'organization' disappeared from everyone's working vocabulary. When first period ended, Syd immediately dashed into the band room, dived into the piccolo closet, extracted her instrument, and took her 'new' seat in the row behind Ruth, Katie Goode, Anne, and Dani, Syd's replacement. She waited expectantly as the students slowly filled in around her and the ever-predictable sounds of tuning up and goofing off echoed about the room. Weiss rumpled her hair as he slid behind her, weaving his way through chairs and stands on his way to the back rooms and the Sousaphone closet. She could tell by the way he continued on without saying a word that Vaughn was right behind him

Guter made his way to the podium and sat down before the bell even rang; this was unusual because he normally waddled in at least three minutes after class was supposed to commence. The extended beep sounded, and Guter's hand rose almost immediately to signal for silence. He received it as usual, and sat back in his chair with his arms clasped over his beer belly to survey the group. "Auditions for concert band are the week after Halloween: that's three weeks. Sign up for slots and pick up music and scales next week. Bring concert instruments on Wednesday.

"Football game tonight. Be here at six thirty and bring your full uniform.

"Alright. Jamie, pass these out." He handed a thick stack of ballots to Jamie Mathers, a senior clarinet player, and she cut the deck and handed one half off to Sam K. Guter leaned back and waved his hand, uninterested. "Malissa, go."

The Head Drum Major delivered a short speech filled with unabashed sexual innuendo and inside jokes involving members of the low brass and drum line ("If anything, vote for me because Luke Krause's mom said so last night"). She received moderate applause and stepped back to stand beside the other two drum majors. Guter waved towards Anne, who was also running for band president. She in turn nodded towards the dreaded Jason Bennet, who dashed over to the computer, Sarah Neumann, who turned on the hanging TV, and Assistant Drum Major Ben East, who stepped up beside her in front of the band.

Anne smiled widely, a grin designed to instantly win over her audience. Sydney recognized it well: she herself had used it more than once to win over random sleazeballs. The senior nodded once towards Jason and again to Sarah on her left. "Ben and I are running mates. And we've prepared a short little presentation for y'all. Enjoy." The lights extinguished, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Syd looked up to see why it was not completely black: they were in the middle of the building after all. She had not noticed the two skylights before, and shook her head at her own absentmindedness.

What drew Sydney's attention to the television screen across the room was music, Russia's national anthem to be specific. A picture of the old communist flag waved across the screen, photo-shopped to include the words 'pride and excellence,' the band's motto. Then it was modified so that the silhouette of a band director about to strike a tempo was superimposed. Everyone began laughing and clapping — both normal responses. As the song reached its climax, the picture dimmed and more words appeared: 'Who says dictatorships don't work?' This time the applause was replaced with cat-calls and whistles of approval. While she did not quite understand the inside joke, their enthusiastic response elicited a small almost-but-not-quite smile. Looking back at the Sousaphones, she discovered Eric heartily guffawing, barely supporting himself with the Sousaphone's bell. Refusing to glance at Vaughn, she turned her attention back to the screen.

A new song had started, one that coaxed groans from the upperclassmen. The low, steady clarinet and tuba line created an undertone of tension, punctuated by the occasional chime that sounded more like a church bell than anything. A silhouette of a marching band now paraded across the screen under the words: 'Who's your connection to God? Anne and Ben.'

Their little movie clip ended, and the lights flipped back on amidst thunderous applause. Anne offered a faux smile again. "I doubt I need to give credentials," She began, "but for the freshmen, I'll recap. I was secretary freshman year, vice president sophomore, and president last year. I owe Ben sex for talking at practice last Thursday, so I'm letting him be my running mate." She paused, and Ben elbowed her and nodded towards the back of the room. This time her smile turned genuine, and she shifted her weight to the other foot. "Oh yeah. Krause's mom is nothing compared to Ted's mom." Oohs issued from the trumpet section as she went on. "In conclusion, if you want a massive orgy with Rick Cheer, Andy Bennet, Ed, Henry, Joe Hall, Luke Krause, Socks, Will Gunn, Hos, and me, vote for us. I can't wait to work on top of Ben East."

Another chorus of oohs rose up as the two candidates high-fived, separated, and went back to their respective positions. Her row mates all high-fived their friend as she retook her seat. Anne snuck a glance at Syd out the corner of her eye, the right side of her lips curling into a smug smile. _'She's letting me know that she doesn't need my friendship,'_ Sydney deduced sadly.

The rest of the speeches were not nearly as interesting or memorable — she zoned out during John Motz's parody of a speech for secretary. Everyone voted quickly, and they got back to band as normal. It being a Friday, people switched instruments readily after the ritual run-through of the halftime show: Andy Bennet traded his snare for Rick Cheer's Sousaphone; Ed exchanged his saxophone for Ted Paisley's trumpet; each percussionist was on a different toy or drum. Everyone danced in their seat to the beat of whatever stands song they played, poking one another, laughing and sharing inside jokes over the music while they rested.

Sydney was sure she would have been smiling and having a good time with them...if she had anybody to have fun with. Anne and Dani bounced back and forth in "Oye Como Va" and up and down during "Johnny B. Goode". The dull ache that had been simmering in her stomach all week heated to a low boil.

As the day progressed, Syd began to notice a trend. In every class they either watched a movie or did meaningless busywork; but always before the bell rang, the teacher would warn them about being careful at both the game and the dance. Most kids snorted juvenilely, and Syd rolled her eyes at them; the teens would do whatever they wanted, and no last-minute warning from their American History teacher was going to change theirs minds.

Since no one told her the unwritten rule for the day before Homecoming, Sydney was the only one who dressed for gym, and therefore ran while the others only plodded along the track in their normal attire. She did not mind running — quite the opposite, really: she relished it because it felt like she was back at home — but the snide comments following her on the gusty breeze distracted her. Anne confidently strode alone along the outside of the track with her head held high, listening to her CD player loudly. Syd longed to be beside her.

Ninth hour, her bane the entire week, pounced on her before she was ready. In lieu of watching a semi-educational film like in the other classes, Jack slipped in "Remember the Titans" — which really only supplied background noise — and demonstrated an on-line game to a few students while others ran amuck. Anne, Vaughn, John Motz, and Sam K. played cards while others watched their fast-flying hands; some gossiped; a few completed homework with deep-set frowns. (The only teacher to assign homework for the weekend was Bretts; apparently he failed to get the memo.) Weiss, Villas, and the other random football players in their class sat in a cluster at the back of the room, hunched over the thick and crumpled play book that had previously resided at the bottom of Tony's backpack. This left Syd to her own devices. Completely bored out of her mind (she would have preferred running from two-hundred-pound Burly Men in heels at this point), she extracted a book from her purse and proceeded to watch the movie over its top. Before the bell rang, she asked her father (in code) if they would be having a meeting after school. When he answered in the affirmative and class dismissed, she trudged down to her tenth hour math class in decidedly lower spirits.

The meaning of "meeting" must have changed since the last time she looked it up, because as she slogged into her father's classroom at exactly three-fifteen that afternoon, the only people present were her father and Dixon. She interrupted their conversation, and they wrapped up as she dropped her two-hundred-pound American History book, purse, and coat onto a front lab table rather noisily. Dixon smiled at her reassuringly and gave her a one-armed hug. "Long week?" He asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Letting out a long sigh she replied, "Longer than you know."

He nodded placidly and slung his coat over his arm. Raising his voice he stated, "I'll see you both later. And Jack, tell Marshall to tone down: he's seriously starting to scare students." With that, he nodded to her and left the room.

Sydney's eyebrows knotted as she perched herself on the edge of a table. "Where is everybody? I'm late; shouldn't they be here already? Or is Weiss—"

"No, he's not hiding in a cabinet," Her father interrupted, walking back behind his desk and organizing his papers. "Unfortunately, he is not bubbling in a test tube, either. I wrote him a pass out of his six/seven class today to discuss this past week. He seemed more than happy about the arrangement; said something about being able to do the ritual now?" He cocked an eyebrow at his daughter, but she shrugged.

"If I hear strange chanting from Coach Banks's room, I'll tell you." An awkward silence fell over the room, and she began swinging her legs back and forth, her toes scraping the tile. The question she wanted to ask tucked itself in between her cheek and her gums, safeguarding itself as if it did not want to be asked; as if it knew its repercussions were unfavourable. So it shied away from her tongue — and therefore the temptation to slip off — and allowed a safer statement passage. "Well, I don't really have anything to say. Nothing happened to me this week, except having to hear countless freshmen spaz about what they're wearing to the dance." _'Whew. Crisis averted...for now.'_

Her father nodded slowly, shifting his weight to the other foot as he clasped his briefcase. "All right. But you still haven't debriefed with me about the EWE party."

The question slipped farther towards her tongue. "But Weiss already debriefed, and we hung out the entire time. Wouldn't my debrief be the exact same?" _'Anything to avoid recounting that goddamn night.'_

Again he nodded. Sitting on his swivel chair, he folded his hands professionally on the desk and looked his daughter square in the face. "Yes, but you know how these things work. I have to get information from everyone. I'm ordered to."

_'Since when has anyone in this family done anything they were "ordered" to do?'_

"Plus," He added as an afterthought, "I think you know something Weiss wouldn't."

The question ballooned and went so far as to prop her mouth open, blocking her airway completely and choking her. Maybe if it was asked nonchalantly, she reasoned carefully, maybe then she could fake him out — make him believe that she did not care about its answer, possibly even already knew it. Game theory at its best. _Anything_ to make it go away: she would need to breathe in the next few minutes in order to avoid fainting. "But," She started, filtering as much urgency out of her voice as her mental cheesecloth allowed, "has Vaughn debriefed yet?"

Adopting the same tone, her father bobbed his head. "Yes, he has. But that has nothing to do with you." He paused for a moment, his gaze scrutinizing his daughter like an electron microscope: penetrating through all the masks and layers of lies to the smallest, most important level. It felt like she was back at SD-6 in the retinal scan room with the red pulse no longer quick, but long and agonizing, leaving her longing for the whiteness of the walls and the chance to blink her eyes again. She fought the urge to shrink back; to grab her coat, throw it over her head, and run out of the room. But just as suddenly as it intensified it weakened, and he broke away to shut off his computer. "So...what happened at the EWE Party?"

Taking a meditative breath, she slipped into full-fledged agent mode, disconnecting all feelings and removing any words that could involuntarily spell disaster for her façade. Just as her mouth opened to issue an explanation, the door to the classroom mirrored her action, but instead of words, a harried and haggard Vaughn issued forth. Stumbling over his own feet, he leaned against the counter next to the door and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying in vain to relieve his accumulated stress. "I know I'm early, Jack, but I just got out of detention, and I figured I'd get this over with as quickly as possible. I want to get out of here before Syd gets—"

Something — probably something unholy, as she did not think anything good could want to cause her so much pain and humiliation — something cause him to look up in the middle of his sentence and lock eyes with her. While the contours of his face remained as set as a photograph, his eyes went through a metamorphosis: from overwhelmed, they changed to sad to scared to exasperated back to overwhelmed, but this time with a different cause. He shifted his weight and sniffed to banish the pregnant silence. He made no effort to conceal the hand that shot to his left earlobe, allowing Sydney a brief window of victory: he was nervous and she knew it. The will power used to force the hand back to the counter top must have been astonishing, as even her most womanly nagging could not rid him of the habit. Breaking their gaze, his eyes slid to the dirty floor, his shoe toeing a scuff he had made in the first place.

Through the wad of cotton that suddenly appeared in her airway, she replied strongly and scathingly, "Present." Her arms crossed over her chest, and her chin lifted parallel to the floor — both actions as involuntary as Vaughn's — and she straightened her posture for good measure.

But something was different; something threw the situation out of whack. Sydney struggled to discern its origin, her mind filing through the numerous possibilities until it alighted upon the only fitting manila folder and pulled it from the cabinet.

Her father was not noticeably happy about Vaughn's discomfort.

If that was not unusual, she had no idea what was.

She felt Jack's eyes volleying between the two younger agents, his unease rather apparent for someone so trained. It emitted a stench — somewhere between gasoline and fresh charcoal — so pungent it tied her stomach in a sailor's knot. The idea of even _trying_ to say anything flew out the window.

So she almost cried in relief when Vaughn said something first.

"I, um," He began oh-so-eloquently, "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were here. I'll, uh, just wait outside—"

"No, that's quite all right," Her father interjected, sitting back down in his chair, his piercing eyes still not content to hover on one of them for long. "You can stay. Sydney was just about to tell me what happened last Saturday night."

Vaughn's gaze shifted to the tiles in front of Sydney, refusing to look _at_ her, but wanting to gauge and read her body language nonetheless. Before she could check herself, she shifted her weight and bit the inside of her cheek. Choosing her words carefully she stated, "What's there to say? It was a party. I never cared much for them; give me a good wine tasting over a mosh pit any day."

'_Not really a lie. But a dead man could tell there's more to the story by the atmosphere alone. Better get out of here while everyone is still semi-comfortable.'_

"And now, if you'll excuse me, there's a little thing called the Homecoming game tonight, and I have to get ready. Bye Dad." Without waiting for a response, she swooped up her belongings and whisked out of the room.

Before the door had even closed, the urge to stick around and listen in on their conversation assaulted her, causing her to halt mid-stride and practically fall down. All she could hear was raised voices and unintelligible, garbled words. Her father said Vaughn already debriefed with him. So why was he there? Vaughn said he was early. _Early for what?_ And why were so many people keeping secrets from her? She knew Vaughn still had that pesky sense of protocol and authorization that occasionally got in the way, but her father was _never_ restricted by any rules but his own. If something important was going on, he would tell her. Right?

'_Weiss was right. I need to get rid of this drama stuff. It's really not as fun as it looks.'_

Despite thinking she heard her name, Syd continued towards the band room.

**

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**

"So this guy walks into a bar."

"...And?"

"That's it."

"That's it? I don't get it."

"This _guy_ walks _into_ a _bar_."

"Nope. Not gettin' it."

"Gah! A humanoid male literally collides with a metal pole."

"Oh! Ha, ha, ha! It's not really that funny."

"Not when it takes three times and an explanation to get it."

Sydney snorted into the crook of her arm, disguising her laughter as a cough. Abby stuck out her tongue at both Henry and Syd, spun on her guard shoe-clad heel, and stormed off in the direction of the choir room. Henry shrugged helplessly, imitated a rim shot on his snare, and moved on to another cluster of unsuspecting victims. Syd adjusted the straps on her uniform for the zillionth time. After her impromptu run-in with Vaughn, she holed herself in the music hallway, doing her homework between the concert band folder cabinet and the table with all the band's trophies, until she thought it safe to change and surf the web for a while. For a few moments, she chatted amiably with a few juniors and those of Anne's friends who dared to break ranks. Anne herself had yet to arrive, and Syd decided when she did show, she would apologize to her friend. If she refused to talk to her...she would cross that bridge when she came to it—

"Hey. Hungry?" She looked up to see Weiss dressed in his football uniform and offering a Wendy's bag.

She nodded vigorously and pounced on the bag, having had practically nothing to eat all day. "Enough to eat Wendy's."

He laughed, grabbed a chair from the piccolo section, pulled it up to the computer desk where Syd was sitting, and collapsed upon it. "So...how're things?"

Just like her question that morning, she knew it had a significant other meaning. "Just peachy. I _enjoy_ dreading when I run into my boyfriend. I _enjoy_ sitting here with you, eating Wendy's in quite possibly the worst outfit ever contrived, and waiting for a high school football game to start. I _enjoy_ living a life that could be considered utter Hell."

Eric sat back, his eyes twice their normal size. "Whoa there, Killer. I sense some hostility, so let's leave Uncle Er-Greg out of it for once and go back to eating the meal he so graciously bought for us. It was six fifty-nine, by the way." She rolled her eyes and sunk her teeth into a chicken sandwich. "So where is Hot Pants anyway?"

"Greg!"

"What?" He answered defensively. "It's just a nickname! Don't go all Dawson's Creek drama queen on me, Jane. Anne's bad enough."

"She's not a drama queen," Syd countered with a mouthful of half-chewed fries, "she's just...sensitive. And she has a right to be mad at us. I mean, she saw us put drugs into a beer bottle. What was she supposed to think? Happy bunnies and green meadows?" A familiar laugh from the drum line entrance attracted her attention. There was Anne, high-fiving people with both hands, the uniform bag over her shoulder practically forgotten.

Henry had somehow made his way back to his respective section, and he and John Motz flanked her on either side. Ben East, wearing the white pants of his drum major uniform, appeared behind Syd and blew his whistle shrewdly, causing Syd to drop her sandwich and clutch at her ears. Once everyone had quieted down, he gestured towards his running mate with both arms. "It is my immense sexual pleasure to present to you, for the second straight year, the shortest and first non-Head Drum major to be president of this band. President Lawson, everyone!' He bowed low, and the entire room erupted in applause and cat calls.

She waved, imitating the typical imperial style, and nodded to random people in the crowd. "Thank you, my loyal subjects. I promise being Guter's Head Bitch won't get to me. By the end of the year, the trumpets will either be better, or they'll be out!" This garnered a mixed response: applause, oohs, or assent from musical instruments drowned out the booing trumpets. She smiled widely and continued, "Secret Service applications go to Ben. Oh, and that massive orgy is scheduled for tonight after the game at Colonial. Thank you, everyone! Let's rock out there! Band love!"

More applause followed her descent, and it took her until the second tier to smack both John and Henry upside their heads and 'dismiss' them. Surprisingly, Anne began to make her way towards Weiss and Sydney, who were still picking at the now-cold fast food. Without dropping her garment bag — or even stopping — she grabbed Eric by the collar and began dragging him with her. "Hallway. You. Me. Now." All semblance of merriment evacuated her features, and she refused to even acknowledge Sydney's existence.

Weiss stumbled along behind the considerably shorter senior and called out, "I'll — ack! — be back — ow! That hurt!"

For the second time that day, Syd felt the need to follow and eavesdrop on their conversation. In her gut, she knew Weiss's and Anne's parts of the mini soap opera would conclude soon. But that did not mean she had to be happy about it. Quite the contrary, really: why would Anne try to reconcile with _Weiss_ first? Anne saw him give _Sydney_ the drugs, not the other way around. They should be teaming up against Weiss, a girls against guys thing.

Would anything be fair in this damn situation?

'_Apparently not, 'cause Vaughn just walked in. Goddamn it. Why does everyone always have to be on time?'_

Losing her appetite suddenly, Syd swept the remnants of her meal into the trash can and busied herself with any sundry task she could think of: polishing her piccolo, pulling threads out of her gloves, practicing with her gauntlets. Even though her consciousness was set on those undertakings, her eyes repeatedly wandered up towards the drum line and, of course, Vaughn. He quickly stripped and redressed in the uniform, harness and all. As he practiced trick drumstick handling, he occasionally glanced her way. When she tried messing with her gauntlets, they happened to glance up at the same time and locked gazes. Syd felt his involuntary lurch towards her — wanting to help her, wanting to touch her — but she also felt his restraint kick in; whatever it was holding him back was _strong_.

Fortunately Weiss chose that moment to reenter the room, just paces ahead of a now-cheery Anne. While the latter rejoined both Katie/Caty, Summer, and Dani, Weiss clapped Sydney on the shoulder heartily. "You are looking at a thoroughly forgiven man, Porter. I can go and sit on the bench with a clean conscience." Thinking better of himself, he winked at her and added, "Well, maybe not _clean_, per se..." He glanced up at the clock, swore sharply, and darted out of the room yelling something about Banks sitting on him. Then Guter waddled into the room and ordered them downstairs. Syd, risking one more indulgent glance at Vaughn, saw him avert his eyes suddenly and followed the crowd downstairs fighting a triumphant grin.

**

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**

Halftime lasted longer than usual: at a Homecoming game, others were featured besides the band and poms. Syd was slow to leave the track after they were dismissed, getting caught up in the infectious school spirit and sticking around to watch the poms perform. As soon as she saw their costumes, though, she rushed to deposit her accessories in the stands: the senior poms' eighties costumes were completely stereotypical. _'I lived through the eighties and never wore anything like that. Now I know why everyone thinks the poms are sluts.'_ She wove in and out of loitering band students and caught random bits of conversations.

"We're winning! Isn't it amazing?"

"Not really. I mean, it's _West Aurora_. They're worse than us."

"How is that possible?"

"Not quite sure."

"We kicked ass during the halftime show! Did you see our standing ovation?"

"Yeah. And the cheerleaders' reactions totally capped it off."

"Why? What'd they do?"

"We took so long that they don't have time to do their special routine. They're pretty pissed."

"Seriously? Way to screw the preps!"

"Did you hear about Michael Tibot and Lara Andropov? Jamie told me they were all over each other during seven/eight today—"

_'And that's enough listening for today, Sydney. Moving on..."_

Wedging between two taller juniors, she grabbed the safest food available (a prepackaged bag of Doritos), skipped the drinks altogether, and battled her way out of the claustrophobic's nightmare. Safely out of Guter's line of vision, most of Anne's friends were either hacking or laughing at those who could not hack. Remembering her pledge to apologize, Syd dumped the half-eaten chips in the nearest trash can and dove back into the crowd, careful to keep one hand attached to the fence at all times. She deliberately tuned out all conversations within earshot, not wanting to stumble upon more unwelcome gossip.

Syd made it all the way to the concession stand before she finally spotted Anne. She was walking in stride next to Vaughn and talking quite animatedly: her normally frequent gestures were positively wild. As they set a good pace around the outside of the fence, Sydney followed at a safe distance, just close enough to overhear bits and pieces without getting caught. Anne must have finally caught wind of the recently-circulated rumors involving the male agent and senior girl. To Sydney's immense pleasure, her friend seemed downright pissed off, but kept her rage under lock and key, only exhibiting it in her pace and frosty gaze. Vaughn spoke in a lower register due to his accent, but Syd refused to risk exposure by creeping closer, so the mini mission was about as successful as listening to one end of an extremely muted phone conversation in the middle of a rock concert. Eventually giving up, Syd skulked back to the band table to wait out the rest of the third quarter.

Before Guter began rounding them up, Syd found her way back to her seat in the bleachers. Discovering the momentous gaps between freshmen/sophomore, junior/senior, and late twenties conversations, she decided to distance herself from anyone remotely interested in speaking with her. Fiddling with her flip folder and imagining how Marshall could enhance it, she had just about resigned herself to a life devoid of friends when a shadow fell across her lap. She looked up almost reluctantly to see Anne backlit with the intense lights of the stadium. In her outstretched hand, a brownie nestled contentedly in the centre of her palm.

"Brownie?" She offered in a small voice, typically uncharacteristic of her. "My mom made them. Well, I tried and she salvaged the last two batches."

Staring at her younger friend, Sydney assessed her for hidden agendas. Was she offering it to test her? To gauge her reaction? _Was it a happy brownie?_ Opting to roll the proverbial dice, she took the dessert and bit off a corner. As the luster of the metal bleachers remained unamusing, she deemed the rest of it safe and practically inhaled it, being the first real food she ate since her breakfast apple.

Anne sighed in relief and plopped down on the empty seat beside her. "I'm sorry I've been such a bitch this whole week. Greg explained what happened at the party, and I completely understand; you don't have to say a thing."

'_Not exactly how I thought this conversation would go, but it's all good.'_ Playing the part of a humoring skeptic Syd asked, "Are you sure? What did Greg tell you? You know, he can't exactly be trusted to give a straight answer."

Anne laughed shortly and played with her own extensively decorated flip folder. "He said that he dared you to drink because the football players told him to. Then he told you that old wives' tale about being able to stay sober if you put powdered sugar in the beer. That couldn't have tasted very good, by the way." Sydney shook her head, going along with the cover story. "Well, at any rate, I'm sorry. Do you forgive me?"

"Only if you forgive me." Anne smiled down at her music and nodded her head. Syd, grinning at her success, lightly slapped her reconciled friend's shoulder and said, "Hey, congratulations, Madam President. I feel honored to be graced with your presence."

She blushed and ducked her head even lower, brushing off the compliment. "Ah, it's nothing. I was a shoe-in: the only senior running with Ben East on my side. How could a girl lose? But hey," She interrupted herself, waving over someone to sit behind Syd, "let's not talk about any of that. Let me treat you to one of the best massages imaginary money can buy. Jane Porter, meet Noah Hersch, the piccolos' resident masseuse for going on two years. Sit back, relax, and pretend to watch the game."

Life was good. All the knots worked up in the past week were rubbed away by the amateur — yet still quite capable — hands of the only boy piccolo player; that brownie tasted pretty damn good; and Anne was her friend again. They spent the entire fourth quarter composing a poem out of the song titles in her flip folder. (They called it "The Third School Song," and Anne promised to tape it up in the band room on Monday.)

As was customary, the entire band stood up for the last two minutes of the game. The team was blowing out West Aurora, and the band was not afraid to let everyone know it. Glenfield ended up winning their first conference game of the year, and the band went to Colonial in high spirits. _No one_ neglected to go, and Sydney marveled at the small restaurant's ability to squeeze in about two hundred rowdy people. She sat with Anne, Weiss, Dani, both Katie/Caty, Henry, both Johns, Joe, Tobi, and two other guys who Anne called Tom and Keith. They placed their orders and were coloring on anything made of paper when another group of people walked in.

Vaughn and Lara were among them.

Because of the wall Sydney could not be sure, but by the angle at which his arm disappeared, she was almost positive it rested around her waist. Anne caught her staring and leaned over to whisper in her ear. "I can hate him if you want." Syd leaned back and glared at her friend incredulously. "What?" She responded, shrugging. "I've heard the rumors; I'm in the know...Don't worry, I'll never say that again. I invited him to take pictures with us tomorrow, but he can be uninvited quicker than the IQ level drops when Greg enters a room."

"Hey! I heard that!"

"Good! I'm proud of you!' Turning back to her friend she continued, "It's what I was telling him tonight during halftime: that she's a selfish bitch with a one-track 'mind' and no boobs." Syd stared at her doubling her incredulity. "Yeah, I saw you following us. Why do you think I made such a big production out of it? Because I enjoy being loud?"

Sydney nodded placidly, not really sure what she should think anymore. Vaughn's group looked ready to leave and go somewhere else. His eyes scanned the room, searching, until they finally found her own. Both of his arms dropped to his sides, and he began advancing, sliding around the service station and creeping towards her in slow, measured strides.

But he barely got more than ten feet away before Lara appeared at his side again, hanging onto his arm like a passenger on the _Titanic_ to a life preserver, something she knew he hated more than a drunk Weiss. She whispered something in his ear, turned him around, and led him towards the door. Just before he exited, though, their eyes locked again, and he gave Sydney a small nod.

Still trying to decide what he was trying to say, her thoughts were interrupted by the playfully fighting Anne and Weiss.

"I can kick your ass any day, buddy! Bring it on!" She tossed a crayon at him that struck the middle of his forehead.

He rubbed the spot gingerly. "Oh yeah? You and what midget army?"

Anne gasped exaggeratedly and began sloshing around in her water for an ice cube. Extracting the cold object, she wielded it at him threateningly. "I don't have to take your crap anymore. I'm older'n you! Shut up!"

This distracted Syd. "What? What do you mean, 'older'?"

Throwing the cube at Eric anyway, Anne turned around to face her friend and explained proudly, "My birthday was Wednesday. I am officially eighteen years and two days old."

The look on Eric Weiss's face was priceless.

Henry tuned in to their conversation and mocked, "Birthday? Whose birthday? Hey everyone, let's sing to Anne and embarrass her again!"

As the entire restaurant full of band people began singing purposely off-key, Syd could not refrain from smiling. Tomorrow was going to be _very_ interesting.

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

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**Chapter Sixteen: **Homecoming Part II  
**Chapter Seventeen: **Halloween in High School

Hope you enjoyed! Please leave feedback and tell me what you liked/disliked: it helps me write better.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	16. Homecoming Part II

**Blah, blah, blah...Like y'all read this anymore, anyways...**

**Chapter Genre:** Why don't I let you decide that?

**This Chapter:** Getting ready for the dance, inappropriate games at dinner, the dance, The Talk, and the after party

**Suggested Soundtrack:** Let's do some old skool...Any song I mention in here: "Pretty Fly (For a White Guy)" by Offspring, "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-a-Lot (put it on repeat), "One Step Closer" by Linkin Park, "Get Low" by Lil John and the East Side Boys, "Forget About Dre" by Dr. Dre and Eminem, "Last Episode" by Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre, "The Real Slim Shady" by Eminem, "Last Resort" by Papa Roach, "T.N.T." by AC/DC, "Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana, and "Fight For Your Right (To Party)" and "Girls" by Beastie Boys. (It's a dance; you're supposed to hear a lot of songs.)

**Author's Note:** By the by, you might need a French-to-English translator for this one. Oh, and thanks to **loozy**, **Cry Hope**, and **Alias424** for their constant support. It really does make me write faster.

**

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**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Sixteen: Homecoming Part II**

"Man, he is _such_ a jackass!"

"No, he's worse than a jackass. He's a...okay, give me a minute..."

"_I_ heard they kicked him out of France. His mother had nothing to do with it."

"They can't just kick you out of a country because they don't like you."

"Well, Russia used to do it!"

_"When they were Communist!"_

"Oh. Well, then they deported him! You know, 'cause he's half-American?"

"Jeez. Nice try, buddy."

"Well, if you weren't so smart, Anne—"

"I got it! He's a jackass-hole!"

"Abby!"

"Thanks, guys," Sydney said, pulling apart a Krispy Kreme. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

Anne waved one hand indifferently as the other tipped a Dr. Pepper can towards her mouth. "Eh, it's nothing," She replied, voice echoing in the aluminum container. "What are friends for?"

"Though it is kinda hard to diss somebody so hot," Abby added, toying with the top of a Pringles can. The rest of the girls shot her withering looks, and she did not bother to look up before saying, "I know, I know. 'Abby!'"

Syd laughed into her own can of Dr. Pepper, nearly spilling it down the front of her t-shirt. As she set it back down on the nearest end table, Katie Goode shushed them all, her eyes glued to the TV screen in front of them, and mumbled something about the best part of the movie. Syd shrugged and quietly sat back on the couch. She, Anne, Ruth, and Abby were at Katie Goode's house on the day of the Homecoming Dance, supposedly getting ready. In actuality, the girls were sitting around Katie's living room eating junk food, drinking pop, and watching any romantic movie they could find. Right then, "Shakespeare in Love" danced across the screen in all its pre-Renaissance glory.

Last night, the party at Colonial lasted well after midnight, the restaurant remaining open an extra two hours for the rowdy teens. Syd pulled into her driveway at half past two, both emotionally and physically exhausted, and was surprised the next morning to find she made it to her bed before passing out cold. Anne had told her to be at Katie's house by ten so they all could start getting ready together, but Syd brushed this off: even though they _were_ band members (and therefore accustomed to being early if not on time), Guter's Wrath would not befall them if they slept in. So Sydney took her time getting ready. She turned the stereo in the family room so loud the windows rattled in their frames, and sang along completely off-key as she took a shower and dressed in matching running pants and a zipper-down sweatshirt (the newest clothing craze). After cooking herself a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, and fruit, she settled down at the kitchen table to read the paper, her cell phone within reach — just in case. Every time the stereo issued a sound remotely resembling her ring tone, she jumped for the small object, hopefully and anxiously checking the caller ID. Eventually she got fed up and shoved the piece of plastic in between two couch cushions.

The pounding bass that shook the floor, indiscriminent of song, served to banish the physical silence. Her psychological silence, however, was less likely to run for the hills. Thoughts of Vaughn easily drowned out the screaming and swearing musicians. Every time she allowed that type of silence to overwhelm her, the acid in her stomach boiled and bubbled, threatening to rise in her throat unexpectedly. When that happened, her hand fluttered to her mouth of its own accord, and her feet carried her towards the bathroom.

Deciding she procrastinated long enough, she went into the master bedroom and began rooting around in the closet. When she and Vaughn were speaking, they had explored the house together, and found both the other bedroom closets filled with various disguises. (He had joked about one day waking up next to the Queen of England.) The master bedroom closet held an eclectic collection of dresses for all occasions, so she thought it was probably the best place to look for a Homecoming outfit. Within seconds she found a knee-length navy blue slip dress that actually made her look younger. _'Now all I have to do is style my hair in pigtails and I'm all set.'_ Glancing at the clock (11:47) and sighing, she decided she was late enough; Syd stuffed the dress into a garment bag, grabbed a pair of black heels and a matching clutch, and sauntered out the door.

She was halfway down the street when she realized she had left her cell phone in the couch.

Upon her arrival, she was berated by all four girls for being over two hours late. Because of her, Anne complained, they had to watch Katie's movie choice: "Dirty Dancing". Syd hid her secret disappointment as she apologized.

Suddenly Sydney was torn from her thoughts by loud groans. Katie had turned off the movie and stood in front of the screen with her fists thrusting into her hips sternly. "That's enough Mister Shakespeare for you girls."

"Oh!" Ruth moaned, melodramatically slumping to the floor. "But we were just about to see the gay guy in the ruff and the cross-dresser get it on!"

Katie threw a pillow at her; Abby did not understand; and Syd and Anne just laughed. As they started to file up the narrow stairs of the townhome towards Katie's room, Anne stage-whispered to Syd, "You know, we did this whole dealy last year, 'Shakespeare in Love' and all. She stopped the movie at the same part; I still don't know how the damn thing ends."

"Everyone dies," Ruth said from the front of the line, mirroring Anne's volume. Anne stuck out her tongue at her friend.

They proceeded to establish an overly-complicated assembly line of sorts. One dressed in Katie's sister's room (her mother and sister were 'out' for the day to leave the girls alone), moved on to hair with Anne, and then to a combined station of make-up with Katie and nails with Abby. Ruth was the first to emerge from the fray in her long, silver dress, and she DJed the rest of the afternoon with such dance favorites as "Pretty Fly (For a White Guy)" by the Offspring and "Baby Got Back" by Sir Mix-a-Lot, which the seniors seemed to enjoy thoroughly — each of them knew all the words by heart, and were not afraid to let the entire neighborhood know it.

Syd was next. After she slipped on her dress, she sat down backwards on the closed lid of the toilet seat to face the mirror. Anne, clad in a long red halter dress with a rhinestone sunburst across the chest, stared back at her in dismay. "Brown hair? How boring are you? Let's see what I can do." She began rooting around in one of the many cosmetic bags on the counter.

The agent's eyes grew wide. "You're not cutting my hair," She stated matter-of-factly.

Anne paused for a moment to pout. "Oh! Well, at least let me colour it, then."

"Not on your life." Anne continued her search. "Anne Lawson, don't you even _think_ about doing anything permanent to this hair—"

"Simmer, Jane, simmer!' She pulled out a box of long, ornately decorated plastic rods. "Chopsticks," She explained, shaking the container so they rattled. "For your hair. Now let's get to work." Anne began wrestling with Syd's lengthy locks, letting the ever-changing music from Katie's room across the hall flow around them. Abruptly, she broke their silence and said, "We're gonna ignore him today, by the way."

Syd, startled, knotted her eyebrows and replied to Anne's mirror image, "What? Who? I'm confused."

She heard Ruth sigh in exasperation from the other room. "Michael! Hello!"

"We're ignoring Michael _and_ Lara," Katie corrected, sending Abby to get dressed. "I called him this morning to remind him to come at four for pictures, and he asked if he could squeeze in one more person for dinner."

"And you said yes?" Anne cried from the bathroom, accidentally pulling Syd's hair. She apologized quietly.

Katie shrugged her shoulders helplessly. "_You_ try saying no to the boy! Damn that Matt Herbert for getting a date and going with her group!"

"Well, then we're _completely_ freezing him out now," Anne concluded, sticking the last chopstick in Sydney's hair and patting the top of her head. Before Syd left the room, Anne stopped her. "And if she even _tries_ to say a word to you, I won't hesitate to go Jackie Chan on her ass. She doesn't stand a chance against five years of karate."

"That's six years old!" Katie exclaimed, beckoning Syd towards her. Anne only stuck out her tongue and went to work on Abby.

Those three hours flew by quicker than Syd thought they would. Pretty soon Katie's doorbell rang, and the four seniors screeched in protest. The guests must have taken that as an invitation, and when Syd glided down the stairs, she found Joe, Mike, both Johns, and Tobi lounging about the family room and avidly watching a baseball play-off game on ESPN. The rest of the girls piled down the stairs as everyone's parents began showing up. Syd became extremely nervous: did she look enough like a teenager to survive the scrutiny of an experienced parent? But she had no need to worry; most of them were so preoccupied with their own child that they paid no heed to anyone else.

They were lining up for pictures in front of the house when Weiss's car pulled up and parked haphazardly at the foot of the steep driveway. Both Eric and Vaughn slid out and loped towards the group, breathing heavily as they took places beside the other guys in the back row.

Lara was noticeably absent.

Syd, only two people away from Weiss, prodded her way through the students until she stood in front of him. Instinctively, he leaned down so she could whisper in his ear. "Where the hell's the whore?"

"Not here," He mumbled back through the corner of his mouth. "She has a hair appointment but, unfortunately, she will be joining us for dinner. What makes you think she'd want to take pictures with us lowly subjects, anyways?" He did not see her confused look but clarified anyway. "That bitch is the snippiest little thing. When I called to see if she needed a ride, she practically bit off my head. Said something about only having two hours left to get ready and that I should be worrying about my own ugly ass. Let's just say that the next time I drive her anywhere is off a cliff."

Syd finally smiled, and the flashbulbs began popping.

They spent practically forty-five minutes in the chilly late-afternoon air posing for various pictures with various people. In all their milling and shuffling about, not once did Syd allow herself to get within fifteen feet of Vaughn. (Quite a feat, considering Katie's front lawn was only about twenty feet by twenty feet.) As the parents drifted apart, the teenagers scattered as well: they had a reservation at Domo 77 at five, and they only had fifteen minutes to get there. Syd darted inside to grab her clutch and keys from the coffee table, and went into the garage to wait for Anne. Before she exited the small space, though, she heard her friend's voice whispering hurriedly to someone.

"_Je ne comprend pas!_ How could you do this to her? _Elle t'aime!_ I can see it! And Lara..._elle-elle est une-une..._Aw, fuck it. She's a whore, and you know it. Jane misses you, and you're off screwing her!"

"_J'ai jamais dit que—"_

"_Tais-toi! __Ça m'est gale!_ Just...You better get your act together, and quick: I don't know how long she's gonna wait around for your sorry ass." Anne rounded the corner and continued down the driveway to Syd's car, tightly hugging her red satin wrap around her shoulders. Syd heard Vaughn sigh sadly as Weiss honked, and he ran down the driveway and jumped into the passenger's seat before the two sped off.

Sydney closed her eyes for a moment, attempting to steady her turbulent stomach. Her emotions pulled in four directions at once. Her heart screamed to forgive him, to take him back; her brain contradicted, pleading with her to rough him up a bit before kicking him to the curb; her poor, tortured stomach just wanted out of the entire situation; and something else (her spleen, maybe) overflowed with bewilderment at Anne's loyalty. She opted for a spleen/stomach combination and took a deep meditative breath before striding towards her car.

**

* * *

**

Due to Syd's superb driving and Anne's dynamic directions, they arrived at the Japanese restaurant first despite being the last to leave. They stamped their feet to keep warm as they waited for their scores of friends. Finally getting fed up, Anne flipped off the sky and pulled Syd inside. When Anne asked for their table of fourteen, Sydney nearly balked. That was a _large_ dinner party. Her friend spied her reaction and laughed. "It's a lot less than we originally planned. Be glad Katie convinced Keith and Tom's group to go to Macaroni Grill instead of us; otherwise, we'd have practically thirty people here." Shrugging helplessly, she followed the maitre-d to her seat.

The group of fourteen had to be split into two groups of seven so they could all watch the 'show' and eat in a timely fashion. Seven o'clock was the scheduled start of the dance, so they had very little time to work with. Their friends began trickling in, and pretty soon dinner was underway. Domo 77, as Syd quickly learned, was an entertainment-geared restaurant with the Japanese chefs preparing the meal while the customer gazed on in awe. Syd's table comprised of Anne, Weiss, Abby, Joe Hall, John Motz, and Henry, the latter two still attempting to flank President Lawson despite her objections and Weiss's evil glares. The other group, who faced Syd and Anne, consisted of Tobi, John Wakowski, Mike Holcomb, Ruth, Katie Goode, Lara, and Vaughn.

As the chefs began taking orders, the chatter increased exponentially, and Syd sat back to look and listen. Somehow Weiss managed to shoo away John Motz and now conversed with Henry across Anne while she stared at the chef's rapid movements, utterly captivated. Both Johns, Joe, and Tobi united the tables by teasing Abby mercilessly. Katie was busy complaining to Ruth and Mike about the selection; she was a vegetarian, and meat occupied a large section of the menu.

The one thing everyone had in common: ignoring Vaughn and Lara completely.

Not that the latter seemed to mind. She draped herself over the male agent, quite shamelessly toying with the buttons on his navy blue dress shirt as he merely leaned back and nonchalantly sipped his water. Her mouth constantly hovered barely two inches from his ear, her lips unreadable because of the faux natural red hair constantly falling in front of her face. Then it was Sydney's turned, and she quickly placed her order without every wavering her gaze.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her own, and looking up, she saw Anne leaning over Henry's lap, who was still talking with Weiss over Anne's back as if it were perfectly normal. Her friend smiled and squeezed her hand reassuringly, then winked and nodded her head at both Weiss and Henry. The two had stopped talking and gazed at the female agent with thinly-veiled anticipation. Taking quick stock of the rest of their party, she found the other conversations stalling as well. Only having seconds to comprehend — let alone act — she could not slap her fellow agent in the back of the head in time to halt whatever plan he concocted.

At the same exact moment Anne, Weiss, and Henry exclaimed, "HAND CHECK! PUT 'EM UP, EVERYONE!" Anne flung up both of her hands, taking Syd's with her and practically elbowing Henry in the eye. Everyone did the same — even Vaughn — and the only person to stare off into space in confusion was Lara. All twelve of the uninsulted party cackled, practically rolling about in hysterics, as Lara grew increasingly indignant and _red._

Anne was the first to recover. "Dinner's on Lara!" She called out to the group, locking eyes with the fellow senior. "As she failed to produce hands when ordered." Lara's lip curled in a hateful sneer as she mouthed a string of foul curses at both Anne and Syd and stalked out of the room.

Vaughn made no move to follow her.

Instead, he allowed himself a hearty chuckle as he downed the rest of his water.

Syd stared at him blatantly, the analytical side of her brain going positively haywire. _What the hell was he doing?_ As far as acting his part went, he was so inconsistent and spotty that he would have been rejected from the high school play! She felt an imbalance in his heart, in his soul. She felt this imbalance because it was also within her. The equilibrium needed to be restored, if not for her sanity, then for Weiss's: she did not think he could withhold another week of this impasse.

The chef began dolling out their food, and everyone settled down to their meal, and the rest of dinner went relatively smoothly. The only major incident was the avoidance of an almost catastrophic food fight between the girls and the guys. Lara did eventually come back and, true to their word, everyone stuck her with the check.

Riding to the high school for the dance was..._fun_. Syd gave Anne free reign of the stereo and full access to her CDs. After thoroughly insulting each one, she picked the "lesser of many evils" and popped in Linkin Park's "Hybrid Theory."

"Not exactly dance music," She said, "but it'll get us ready for some serious teen angst. Everyone lets it _all_ out at these things. That's why I didn't go to any 'til last year; thought maybe people would've grown up. Not a chance." Then the two sat back and screamed along with the rock music pulsating out of the speakers.

They arrived a few minutes early, and parked in the teacher's parking lot across the street from Entrance H to wait for everyone else. As they sat on the trunk of the car, shoes in hand instead of on foot, the two chatted amiably about random things, such as what they were doing afterwards, what Anne received for her birthday, and what the hell Homecoming was for. (Going cosmic bowling at Bowling Green; a few CDs, books, foreign language dictionaries, nothing major; "Not quite sure. Someone told me my sophomore year that it was so graduates could come back and laugh at us. But then again, this was from Henry...Not exactly the most reliable source, if you know what I'm sayin'...") When the rest of their friends — which did not include Vaughn and Lara — pulled alongside Syd's car, they entered through Entrance H en masse. Only after they "checked" their purses and shawls (i.e. handed them to a volunteer mother to hang on the racks normally reserved for the band's garment bags) did Sydney have a chance to get a good look at Commons.

Blue and white balloons accompanied silver stars on the ceiling, hovering over round tables by the water fountains and the door. White Christmas lights slung along the north wall over the food tables with the rest of the lights extinguished, leaving Commons in semi-darkness. The "dance floor" was a mass of swirling colors as students in formal wear hopped and slid to the throbbing bass of the music supplied by the DJ along the west wall.

In short, it looked pretty much the same, just with fewer tables and longer hemlines. Nothing at all like those movies they had watched as "research".

Anne interrupted Sydney's thoughts by appearing at her side, noticeably shorter than usual. In response to her friend's unspoken query, Anne lifted her skirt to expose her feet. "Flip flops," She explained matter-of-factly, smiling broadly. "You expected me to wear heels for three hours? Are you kidding me?" Cocking an eyebrow playfully, she motioned Weiss over from a group of football players. "They're under the water fountains if you want to put yours by 'em. Now, if you'll excuse me, we're going to go dance. If you know what's good for you — cough, cough — not waiting for him and his whore-on-a-leash — cough, cough — then you'll join us."

Syd nodded and followed. The group of twelve reunited with the rest of their friends, most of whom Sydney did not know, on the fringe of the crowd. Every thirty seconds or so (she knew, because she was also looking at the clock), she would glance over towards the doors, trying to catch a glimpse of Vaughn and Lara as they walked through the door. No such luck. A half-hour passed, and still no sight of them. The grin on her face became increasingly fake, and when Anne noticed, she brought up the issue to the entire group.

"I know exactly what she needs!" A wink passed around the circle, and Syd looked to Weiss for a hint. He merely shrugged his shoulders. Grabbing Ruth and Katie by the wrists she announced, "Be right back!" and disappeared into the congregation.

They returned surprisingly quickly with smiles plastered across their faces. The song changed, and the first words were, "Becky, look at her butt. It is _so_ big..." The collection of twenty or so cheered (there could be no exact count, as a number of the girls had taken a group bathroom break), and Anne winked again as she latched onto Henry's wrist and pulled him to the centre of the newly-formed circle. And they all began dancing. A mix of dancing, lip-synching, and performing a mini-soap opera to be exact. More spectators gathered around, encouraging them to new and more embarrassing heights. A cameraman from the yearbook, characterized by his gigantic camera and fisherman's vest, surfaced without any warning, barely allowing Syd enough time to pull Weiss out of the way of his multiple snapshots. Just as the song was winding down, Sydney happened to glance across the circle and...

There he was.

Vaughn.

Looking slightly more harried than when they all parted at the restaurant.

And there she was.

Lara.

Looking slightly more smug than when they all parted at the restaurant.

Making eye contact with the female agent for the first time in over a week Vaughn mouthed clearly, "She got us lost."

Syd sneered, nodded disbelievingly, and broke their contact.

As the night progressed, everyone's attire slowly became less formal. The guys mysteriously lost their ties, the first few buttons on their dress shirts popped; and sweat stains were painfully apparent. Girls' heels (including Syd's) ended up with Anne's under the fountains, and feet became blackened with dirt. (Not everyone remembered to bring sandals.) Katie joked that at least four of her twenty bobby pins ended up on the floor. The end of every song brought hope for a better one, only to be dashed seconds later when the DJ began playing either a hard-core rap or slow song. The man must have played "Get Low" and "Shake a Tailfeather" three times each in a fifteen-minute span. Soon enough, each crappy song blended into the next, creating a steady bouncing bass line. The Unmentionable Couple's suggestive dancing punctuated this. Actually, it was more one-sided: Lara ground and shimmied her hips while Vaughn merely stood there, an air of boredom permeating the atmosphere about him.

After the two showed up, their group crept slowly away towards the southeast corner, leaving Lara and Vaughn exposed. Anne and Syd giggled conspiratorially when Vaughn realized this and tried to gracefully retreat to the group again.

Suddenly the bass broke, and the DJ's voice floated out over the crowd. "Everyone havin' fun out there?"

Without collaboration, Syd's friends yelled a resounding, "NO!"

Not hearing them he continued, "Well, let's keep this party rollin' with..."

They all groaned and shook their heads simultaneously.

"You know," Anne remarked off-handedly, "maybe we _would_ be having fun if they played good songs — like Nirvana, AC/DC, Metallica, Godsmack, Chevelle, Hoobastank, Fuel, even Blink 182! Anything without fuck, bitch, whore, or gay- and women-bashing every five seconds." Mumbles of concurrences followed.

Syd's throat became dry, what with all the dancing — bending at the knees and swinging the arms similar to a rabid chimpanzee — and she excused herself to the snack table. Cups of punch were already laid out, and as she approached, an anonymous teen distracted the volunteer manning the table while another unsheathed a bottle of brown liquid and quickly poured a good amount into each cup. She discreetly steered herself away and towards the hallway; she would buy herself a Powerade or bottle of pop from the vending machines down the hall.

Just as she passed the girls' bathroom, a voice called out to her from behind. _"Arrête!"_ She stopped, but only for a moment, pretending to catch her heel on a non-existent crack. But the voice persisted, and she heard footsteps approach her at a run. Her own pace increased, the slapping of her bare feet echoing in the almost deserted corridor. By the time she passed the boys' bathroom, a hand clutched at her elbow. _"Regarde-moi."_ She refused to look at him, and her eyes bored straight ahead. _"Regarde-moi,"_ He repeated, dangerously low.

Instead of ignoring him, she shrugged off his hand, looked him straight in the eye and cursed, _"Va te faire foutre, Michel."_ Fuck off. Breaking away from him, she began striding quickly, not to the vending machines, but to the unmarked doors next to them. Contrary to her oath, she wanted to leave before he started anything.

But he refused to let her. He quickly caught up to and stopped her, barring her path. _"Qu'est-ce que je peux faire pour te changer d'avis?"_

What could he do to change her mind? Was that a trick question? _"Va te faire foutre,"_ She repeated, her eyes as blazing as the bacon he set on fire whenever he tried to cook. _"Tu me fait chier."_ Just looking at him made her stomach lurch, albeit for more than one reason.

He rolled his eyes and let his shoulders stoop. _"Laisse be'ton!"_

Let it drop? Let it drop? Who was he kidding? _"Laisse be'ton? __Ne sois pas emmerdant."_

"_Ne sois pas une salope."_

Her hand rose and struck his face of its own accord. "Don't you dare call me a bitch. Not after you've been with her. _Merde._ You're the one who's _un batard, un vieux con, un vicieux, une ampoule—"_

"I'm a light bulb?"

Despite herself, she blushed and shifted her weight to her other foot. "I got carried away. But you're still a son of a bitch."

There was a moment of silence, a stare-down of titanic proportions; her squared shoulders against his; their defiantly raised chins matching perfectly. They would have been there forever if a shriek of girlish laughter had not startled them from their reverie. Vaughn steered her down a hallway towards the room Dixon had taken her to his first day in Glenfield. He extracted one of Katie's discarded bobby pins from a pocket and began picking the lock. Without averting his eyes form the task at hand he said quietly, "Syd, we need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," She snapped back, fists thrusting into her hips. But her feet did not carry her away. If she wanted to leave, she would have to force herself to walk back to the dance. Or out of his life.

He did not give her time to mull it over long; he jimmied the lock open, flipped on the lights, and tugged her inside. The door slammed loudly, echoing in the high-ceilinged room and making them both jump. With his back still to her he replied, "Yeah there is. I can't live like this anymore. I need to explain—"

Abruptly, the room plunged into darkness, the only source of light the large windows on the opposite side of the room behind the desks. Vaughn spun around to see Syd with her hand on the light switch. "You need to explain what? That a _seventeen-year-old_ can please you better than I can? That she needs you more than I do? That you love her more than me? Have fun with that, 'cause I'm not listening."

Advancing towards her, he shook his head solemnly and flicked the lights back on, causing her to squint and blink rapidly. "Syd, that's not it at all—"

"_Leave the lights off!_" She yelled, slapping his hand away from the switch and extinguishing the bulbs yet again. "Someone's going to know we're in here!"

"Good!" He countered, matching her tone and volume as he flicked the switch again. "Maybe they can slap some sense into you!" He paused, and only took his hand away from the switch when he was sure she would not try to flip them off again. "I'm trying to explain this to you, Sydney! Why won't you listen to me?"

"That's all I've been hearing from you since we've been out here: explanations after the fact! And I'm sick of it! I need someone who's not afraid to tell me what he's thinking. I need someone who tells me exactly what's going to go down _before_ it happens; not halfway through or ten minutes after the dust settles. 'Cause when that happens, I'll be five hundred miles and three states over."

"I'm trying to fix this."

"It's too broken to fix. Nothing can hold this relationship together now. I don't trust you anymore."

"I love you."

'_Whoa! Where the hell did that come from?'_ Syd blinked slowly and deliberately, trying in vain to process the retort. He fired it off as effortlessly as if it had been part of a scripted dialogue in his head. She attempted to reconstruct some semblance of logic, reason, and reality by relying on her spy skills. But her Calm Mask's glue dried before it could be applied; her smooth, silky, manipulative voice had a stain; and her Quick Thinking and Compartmentalizer machines were taped over with out-of-order signs. Some part of her consciousness still functioned, though, as she soon heard herself rasp, _"What?"_

"I love you," He repeated emphatically, stepping closer and grasping her shoulders firmly. "You. Not Lara. I love you, Sydney Bristow."

Her senses slowly returned to her, and she flung off his arms harshly. Beginning to pace in front of the empty desks, she said, more to herself than Vaughn, "No. No, this can't be happening! You're not supposed to say that now, during an argument! You're supposed to say that after we make love under the stars or during a candle-lit dinner. Not when we're fighting about you having illegal sex with a high schooler."

"I never slept with her. Not once."

_'And "reeling" is now officially the word of the day.'_ She stopped pacing with her back to him and stared at the blank beige wall just two feet in front of her. "So the-the rumors...?" She began, stammering.

"...Are completely false." She heard the grin in his tone, and her anger strengthened again. What gave him the right to be so endearing during an argument? She really had to break him of that habit. Over her left shoulder, she felt him approach, his arm outstretched to touch her. "Syd, I'm not that stupid. I might be a guy, but I know when I've got something valuable. And you're priceless."

With that, her anger drained away, leaving Syd to grasp at the remnants like grains of sand slipping through her fingers. Her brain was disgusted with herself: she felt the compulsive need to physically check for a backbone. But her heart drowned out the purely logical organ and reminded her of the honesty heard in his voice. He certainly was not the greatest spy she had ever faced, and even on missions, she could see straight through his lies.

Now...

He was _not_ lying.

'_Good. Now it's time for some answers.'_

Taking him by the elbow, she all but threw him into a desk and perched herself between the teacher's stacks of papers. Crossing her ankles, she folded her hands in between her knees and commanded, "Explain. Now. Neither of us is going to leave until you disclose everything."

He nodded and laced his fingers on the smooth surface, leaning forward and holding her gaze. "Well, what do you want to know? Question me."

"Have you slept with Lara?"

"No."

"Have you slept with anyone else during this mission?"

"Besides you? No."

"Are you dating Lara?"

"Michael Tibot _was._ He plans to break up with her tonight."

"Why?"

He sighed heavily and almost averted his eyes, but Syd's fiery glare held him steadfast. "It's a long, complicated, and classified story."

Sydney shrugged indifferently. "Good thing I've got time, I'm smart, and classification means nothing to us."

Sighing again, he gulped audibly and began, "It all started that Saturday, before the EWE Party. Your father called me and asked if we could 'have a chat.' Being immensely afraid of the man I agreed, and we met at the safehouse in Angers. Kendall has us on a conference call, and he assigned me a sub-mission. Apparently the CIA obtained intelligence to the affect of a senior girl having major connections to Sark's drug ring. Since you and Weiss were already on Schlesinger's case, Kendall and Jack wanted me on Lara's. Personally. Because of her..._attraction_ to me, they thought I could exploit her and force her hand. Jack gave me a vial of sleeping pills disguised as Ecstasy and Marshall's Magic — you know, that stuff for not getting...? Yeah — and said if I even tried to tell you about this, there wouldn't be enough left of me to send home in a Ziploc bag...

"So after doing our business out back, we came inside to 'fish for whores.' Lara came along, as expected, and she was more than willing to go upstairs. That's when I saw you." He had to pause and gulp again. "You have no idea how much I wanted to run after you, to take _you_ upstairs instead...But your dad...And the mission..." He trailed off miserably, regret filling in the wrinkles on his forehead. "So I took her upstairs and gave her some of the pseudo-Ecstasy; she passed out within seconds, I fixed it so it looked like we'd had sex, left my number, waited for a half-hour, and left the party altogether.

"The next day, she called me; I asked her out; and I've been pretending to like her ever since. She _really_ thinks we're going out; she _really_ thinks we've had sex. Everything else...well, let's just say she has a big imagination and an even bigger mouth: she's the one who started all those rumors.

"The lead hasn't panned out so far, and since I'd think she would've shown her cards by now, I'm aborting the mission myself. I couldn't stand waking up in an empty bed and knowing that somewhere out there, you were too. I couldn't stand that you thought I would ever be unfaithful. I couldn't stand that you hated me. Syd, in my life, there's only one person, and that's you. Not Lara.

"So be there Hell or high water, I will always fully brief you on any of my missions _in advance_. I don't care if they threaten me, castrate me, stab me with flaming fire pokers, or send Guter after me in a golf cart. I love you. And I'm not going to do anything to put your love in jeopardy every again."

She did not wake up, even after she discreetly pinched her calf harshly.

The tears in her eyes were real.

His words were real.

This feeling was real.

He was really crossing the distance between them, pulling her into his arms, hugging her to him like she was his last tether to reality.

That moment seemed to last forever, and as his hand wandered up to stroke her back, he whispered hesitantly into her ear, "Can you forgive me?"

She pulled away from him, her hands framing his face, and searched his eyes skeptically for any hint of falsehood. Upon only finding purity and goodness, she grinned widely and nodded vigorously. He laughed shortly, almost in relief, framed her own face, and brought their lips together in their first kiss in over a week.

It seemed _so_ much longer than that.

They calmly and innocently searched the other at first, afraid that if they went too fast, they would burst the Bubble of happiness they had created. Assured the bubble had solidified into a rock-solid castle, his tongue beseeched her lips for entrance like a lone peasant refugee seeking solace in the most lavish of halls. The portcullis opened, and he charged in, bringing with him a week's worth of unmitigated, pent-up passion. She smiled against him as he lifted her up onto the desk, making sure she cradled his hips in the process.

It was then they noticed the sirens.

They broke apart in a panic, forgetting for a moment where they were and why they were there. The sirens continued, and it was yet another moment until they figured out exactly what they were.

The fire alarm was going off.

Without wasting another second, Vaughn grabbed Syd's hand, turned off the lights, and pulled her out the door. The two sprinted (Syd still in her bare feet) down the hall, 'round the corner, past the vending machines, and out the door. They jogged down the sidewalk, turned a corner, and continued past Entrance F to a crowd gathering in the teacher's parking lot by Entrance H. Students in wet prom apparel poured out of the four doors; girls shrieked and complained about dry cleaning bills while guys offered their sodden coats to keep their dates warm. Syd immediately spotted Anne's nearly drowned form with Weiss and the others walking unknowingly towards them. She caught the tail end of their conversation.

"What the hell are they complaining about?" Anne muttered loudly and sardonically. "Those sprinklers could have saved their lives! And they're whining about a wet dress? Oh shut up! You're only gonna wear the damn thing once, anyway!"

Syd suppressed a fit of laughter and waved to their friends, still tightly clutching her boyfriend's hand. "Yo! Over here, guys!"

Anne's eyes lit up, and she hoisted her dress and ran over to them, her sandals slapping the cold pavement, while the rest of their group followed. She slammed to a halt immediately before them, looking up at the two with unbridled joy. Pointing back and forth between them she asked, "Are...you...two—" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively "—_together?"_ They both nodded, and Anne practically squealed in excitement.

Weiss held her firmly to the ground by pressing down on her bare shoulders. "Took the words right out of my mouth," He said, winking at his fellow agents over Anne's head. "You know, minus the girly squeal."

She turned around and glared up at him. "I can still hurt you without my heels. Now I'll just take out your kneecaps instead of your ass."

The entire group oohed and clapped rewardingly. They began moseying over the acorn-littered lawn in front of the school, conversing genially. No one was allowed back into the school yet, so some students with their cars parked at Entrance H had tuned their stereos to the same station and blasted the music, creating a second dance floor on the asphalt lot. The group reached a relatively nut-free dip in elevation and sank down on the hard ground. Before Syd sat, though, Vaughn squeezed her hand and nodded towards the parking lot. She bobbed her head back, understanding what he had to do.

As he stalked off, she turned back to the group at large and asked, "So why did the fire alarm go off?"

Everyone laughed and Katie answered, "The DJ's smoke machine caught on fire and set off the sprinklers."

"Hopefully it incinerated 'Get Low'. I cannot _stand_ that song anymore!" Ruth groaned, leaning back into John Wakowski.

Anne added bitterly, "After y'all left, they played it at least four more times. If I never hear that song again, it'll be too soon." She paused, picking apart an acorn and throwing the pieces at Weiss and Henry. "So...what's Michael doing?"

Syd blushed and averted her eyes shyly. "Breaking it off with Lara."

The entire group let out a collective breath and mumbled, "Thank God." Anne continued playing with her mutilated acorn. "Let's hope he talks first; otherwise, he'll be the one who's dumped." She did not even have to look up to know Syd was confused. "I kinda poured two cups of punch down her dress. Although I really wouldn't call that a dress, would you? I mean, it was more like a scrap of fabric from an eighties' couch cover..."

Clapping and cat calls resounded among the trees as her friends congratulated the senior, prompting Syd to share a smile with Anne. "What sparked that?" She prodded, not really sure she wanted the answer.

Anne gazed back innocently. "She looked at me funny...Alright, she looked at me in general. I told you she'd get an ass-kicking if she tried anything! I was just...preventing the inevitable."

"You know she's gonna be after you and Jane for, like, ever, now, right?" John Motz pointed out.

She shrugged indifferently. "Meh. If she does, I've got a pitcher of ice water in my fridge at home with her name on it."

Vaughn reappeared at that moment and sat down behind Sydney, pulling her into his lap. Looking directly at Anne he said, "I am supposed to ask you about punch...?"

All twelve of them erupted with laughter.

"Hey, here's an idea," Anne suggested as they simmered down. "How's about we blow this pop stand and go straight to the after party?" Assents followed, and they rose as the music shut off in the parking lot. "So get all your crap, and we'll meet at Bowling Green in, oh, let's say fifteen minutes?"

"Sounds like a plan," Henry affirmed, and they trooped back inside on the tail end of the flow. All the girls retrieved their purses, shawls, and shoes, met their rides at Entrance H, and said good-bye to those few remaining at the 'Crappiest Dance in the History of Dances, and that's Quite a Few Dances to Preside Over.'

Anne directed Sydney to a bowling alley not five minutes away and reached over to honk maniacally at Weiss and Vaughn as they pulled into the space next to theirs. They all proceeded to change into normal clothes (Weiss had to borrow one of Vaughn's undershirts, as he had forgotten to wear one: it was one large blackmail opportunity for everyone involved) and bowled a game under black lights and a disco ball. Amazingly, the DJ at the bowling alley was light-years better than the one at the dance. Every song was a 'good one' or Anne's 'favourite': they played "Baby Got Back" again as well as 'good rap songs' — "Forget About Dre," "Last Episode," "The Real Slim Shady" — and 'vintage classics' — "Last Resort," "T.N.T.", "Smells Like Teen Spirit," "Fight For Your Right (To Party)," and "Girls". Anne was practically hyperventilating; she was that excited. Syd teamed up with Vaughn, Weiss, and Anne (who payed more attention to lip-synching and bounding around like a sprite on speed than the game). They each took pseudo-names, as did everyone else. When the game ended, Jesus came in last with God a close third, and the winner was either Satan or Ur Mom: everyone adopted Anne's infectious effervescence after the third frame and ceased to care about scores. More crazy pictures were taken while bowling than in the entire duration of the dance.

At eleven, they proceeded out onto the volleyball court. The cold sand only became more frigid the farther down they buried their feet, so they quickly learned to skitter over the surface, only touching the grains for fractions of seconds. The game was played poorly; so poorly, in fact, that they soon abandoned traditional form and opted for throwing the ball at one another. Even that eventually deteriorated into burying Henry, Weiss, and John Motz in the sand and molding inappropriate genitalia on their persons. At one point Vaughn mused aloud, "How did we go from volleyball to this?"

Despite having no official curfew (the bowling alley did not close until three in the morning), Syd and Vaughn left at midnight, citing..._'reasons.' _ For one blissful day, Sydney forgot about missions and evildoers and remembered what it was to be a teen, even going so far as to experience things that she had not been exposed to during her sheltered boarding school career. Now she wanted to go home with Vaughn and remember why she enjoyed being an adult.

_**TBC . . .**_

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**Chapter Seventeen:** Halloween in High School  
**Chapter Eighteen:** Gangs of West Chicago

Hope you enjoyed! Feedback tells me what you like, and then I can try to incorporate it even more!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	17. Halloween in High School

**HAPPY GOLDEN BIRTHDAY, **_**SEVENTEEN AGAIN**_**! **

**This Chapter:** Let's think. Um, Halloween? Both plot twists return full force as does the Spy!Sex. A bit of action and disguises as well.

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "I Don't Care" by Brides of Destruction, "Bubble Toes" by Jack Johnson, "I Don't Want to Be" by Gavin DeGraw, "Pinch Me" by BNL, "Monster Mash" — the original version, and the second half of "Thrown Away" by Papa Roach for the end.

**Author's Note:** Hee, hee! Golden birthday! Get it? 'Cause it's..._Seventeen Again_...and this...is...Chapter Seventeen? Alright, I'll shut up and let you enjoy.

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**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Seventeen: Halloween in High School**

Vaughn and Lara's break-up in no way halted the Rumor Mill or attached Grapevine. In fact, the event only widened the loathsome triangle's sphere of influence: more teens than ever traded the newest lies over copied homework or lunch trays. They ranged from the relatively believable to the extremely absurd. Rumors like Lara dumped Vaughn; he was in the relationship for conquest ("Yeah, because I had to work _so_ hard to get her"); Vaughn was bad in bed ("And we all know _that's_ not true." "Vaughn!" "What?"); and Syd was actually a pricey prostitute ("I am? Why did no one tell me? Vaughn, you owe me, like, two million dollars. Fork it over. And in small bills, please").

None of this affected them, however. The newly publicized couple continued on as if they were used to being slandered. Anne in particular had fun with the variety of rumors. On Sydney's permission, she twisted the rumors into horrible semblances of reality; she was the one to give rise to the pricey prostitute falsehood. Her personal favourite (up until someone spotted the inconsistency) was that "Pretty Woman was inspired by Sydney's true life, and she was actually married to a millionaire in Los Angeles that "let her work a little on the side." Another favourite fell a little closer to the truth than either Syd or Vaughn was comfortable with: she was an undercover cop and he was an undercover FBI agent who were chasing after a wanted teen criminal and accidentally met, fell in love, and planned on marrying after they caught the man. The couple quickly persuaded Anne to faze that one out of circulation.

Weiss also benefited from his friends' publicized personal lives: he got to tease them mercilessly twenty-four hours a day without checking to see if there were "small ears" present. Needless to say, the number of bruises on his arms and jaw also increased; he even got a bloody nose once due to one of Syd's wildly flying elbows.

Other than the rumors, though, everything was perfect. Not having to conceal her true feelings took a weight off Syd's shoulders that she did not even know was there. They could hold hands in the halls; they could talk (a little) about what they had done the night before; they could kiss each other good-bye. As if Sydney thought things could not get any better, the homework load decreased. She learned American History was a class for juniors ("Wow. How dense am I?"), but she did not have to take the senior year Social Studies requirement of Government because the CIA added it to her transfer transcript. This disappointed Anne, because she had Government second semester, and would have gone to fairly great lengths to ensure they were in the same class. Also, she was finally out of Strength Training; now she had Bowling/In-Line Skating (again with Anne), which she was enjoying immensely, even though she could not bowl to save her life. _'Oh well,'_ She though every time she threw a gutter ball. _'At least I get food out of the deal.'_

Unfortunately, things did not go so well for Vaughn. Somehow, the news of their not-so-private love lives reached Jack faster than either of them expected, but when Syd was roused that Sunday morning by a phone call from her father, she thought nothing of it. He asked about Homecoming: whether she had fun, what she did, whether she gathered any more leads. It was a genial enough conversation, so when they said their good-byes and hung up, she merely rolled over, rewrapped Vaughn's arms around her waist, and fell asleep again.

Not a good idea.

They both awoke to a sharp rap on the bedroom door followed by an equally sharp command to "get decent." After rushing to comply (and convincing themselves Vaughn need _not_ escape through a window), they met Jack Bristow in the kitchen, where he was reading the newspaper and sipping his coffee calmly. Upon their sitting, Calm Jack morphed into Angry Frog Jack with Bulging Eyes and Red Cheeks. He lectured them on hormones and keeping secrets. He lectured on decorum and tact. He lectured on protocol. (_'He's one to talk.'_) But he said nothing to Vaughn about aborting his mini-mission, nor did he explain himself to Sydney. But seeing as he only threatened Vaughn's life twice, the couple silently decided not to press the issue (or their luck) any further than necessary. Instead, they listened and acted repentant until Jack said his fill; then Syd politely kicked him out so she and Vaughn "could do homework."

They got halfway through her American History homework before abandoning it for more pleasurable activities.

If Jack knew about the aborted mission, he never let on. He played it calm and cool no matter what the setting or characters involved.

This was the way things progressed as they crept towards the first real holiday of the school year: Halloween. The day fell on a Friday that year, so to keep up appearances, the agents decided to forego a meeting and have their last "extra-credit" session the week before. Marshall and Weiss were occupied with a Bunsen burner in the back corner of the classroom. Syd felt uneasy about leaving them to their own devices with so many chemicals laying within reach and without child-safe caps, but she continued talking with Vaughn and Dixon while keeping one eye on the two. Vaughn and Dixon were having an interesting conversation discussing the ins and outs of how the security guards did their jobs. Syd frowned slightly upon hearing exactly how many times Vaughn had evaded the authorities, but her smile reappeared as her boyfriend's hand found its way into the back pocket of her jeans. _'Good thing we're facing the back of the room; I'd hate for Weiss to turn around, see us groping each other, and call us out as my father walks in—'_

Too late.

Jack Bristow burst into the room with all the grace of a tornado, his now-expected ensemble of a turtleneck, sweatshirt, and jeans seeming to push all of the blood in his body up towards his cheeks. His briefcase and another unidentified bag trailed behind him as well, narrowly missing the doorframe as he stormed in. The couple did not give him the opportunity to glare at them; they quickly extracted their hands and simultaneously pivoted to stand on opposite sides of Dixon. Tossing his briefcase carelessly on the tiled floor, Jack carefully set down the other bag on his desk before glowering disdainfully at the back of the room. "Agent Weiss! Mister Flinkman! Please! Equipment costs money, and I will be more than happy to deduct it from both your paychecks."

Weiss swore sharply, and a test tube slipped from his grasp to shatter upon the counter top. Marshall tried unsuccessfully to hide his laughter as his partner in crime rushed to the nearest sink to scrub his hands. Syd nudged Vaughn's side behind Dixon's back, and he dutifully strode to help dispose of the shards of glass and mystery liquid. Jack began angrily shuffling papers around on his desk, so Syd and Dixon turned to the adult delinquents in the back of the room. "What were you playing with, Eric?" Sydney asked reproachfully.

"AgNO3," He answered indifferently, furiously rubbing the back of his left hand with a brown paper towel.

The three other unoccupied agents inhaled sharply in unison, but Sydney took the pleasure of informing him, "Silver nitrate, Weiss? That's going to stain your hands brown for a _long_ time."

Vaughn attempted to hide his smirk as he swept the broken glass into the designated bin with the designated brush. "And good luck trying to get it off without the antidote. Nice job, buddy."

Eric turned towards the front of the room, his eyes wide and face sincere. "Jack, you wouldn't happen to have any—"

"Not for you, Agent Weiss," He replied curtly, still fiddling with the bag. "Maybe if you hadn't been messing around with lab equipment that wasn't yours."

"Oh, come on, Jack! This isn't school anymore; I'm not your student—"

"But I'm still your superior." Dixon issued a low whistle that only Syd could hear, and she successfully suppressed a smile. "Now, everyone take a seat. Immediately." Each agent complied, and Vaughn even had the presence of mind _not_ to sit next to Sydney, therefore eliminating the temptation to develop Wandering Hand Syndrome. Jack finally found what he was looking for and extracted it out of the bag: a small, pen-like device with a long cord. Plugging it into the laptop already on his desk, he pulled down the overhead screen and strode around the desk with the gadget in hand. "I just received calls from both Kendall and Langley confirming what I already suspected." He aimed the device at the screen and clicked a button. A grainy, black-and-white photo of an all-too-familiar man exiting a car flashed onto the screen from the pen's head. Dixon, ever conscious, jumped to both black out the window and turn off the lights. Syd sighed heavily as she recognized the man. "Sark is in Chicago," Her father confirmed unnecessarily.

Weiss seemed to grow another pair of balls, because he asked without any qualms, "So? We already knew that. What else is new?"

Sydney seriously feared for her friend's life; the glare he received from her father probably should have killed him. Trying to salvage Eric she corrected, "What he means to ask is, why are Kendall and Langley all worried over this now? They knew about Sark's drug involvement weeks before we did. What's the deal?"

Jack replaced his eyeballs back into their sockets and began clicking through a series of pictures, all of Sark entering or exiting various buildings. "Kendall has reason to believe that Sark has an apartment in Chicago rented under the name Harold Wyland. We've also received intel hinting at a visit in the near future."

"Visit?" Dixon echoed, sitting up straighter and folding his hands on the desktop. "What do you mean?"

Their leader sighed and showed another series of pictures. Sark slowly exited a shop frame by frame with a garment bag slung over his shoulder. From one angle, the name on the plastic was visible. Jack zoomed in and blew it up to readable size: We-Go Cleaners. Vaughn gasped and Syd uttered an audible, "Oh, my God."

"What is he doing in Glenfield?" Vaughn inquired, puzzled. "There isn't supposed to be any major transactions for weeks."

"That's my point," Jack said, clicking the pen once more and shutting it off. "Our intel indicates that Sark will be making an appearance at the school itself. In disguise, of course. We think he's going to show up on Halloween as a student teacher."

The bottom dropped out from under Syd's world. An appearance? He was going to actually show his face where he could be recognized? _'Oh God, he knows we're here. That's why he's being so bold. There's no other plausible explanation.'_ Her stomach felt like it had just been used as a practice ball for the school soccer team. Her head spun as well, giving her the sensation of being about a thousand feet in the air. In short, she felt sick. Violently sick.

Dixon, Weiss, Vaughn, and even Marshall had jumped up in indignation upon hearing the new intelligence. They shouted splenetic remarks and exasperated questions at Jack without regards to their greatly elevated volume. Syd merely slumped over the desktop and laid her cheek on the cold surface, covering her eyes with an arm. She just wanted this whole thing to be over and done with. Things had been going so great recently: Anne was her friend again; classes were never easier; and she and Vaughn were _publicly_ together. She should have seen it coming all along. Of course Sark and Sloane chose this exact time to shake things up a bit. Boy, did she need a strong drink or at least an aspirin the size of Texas...

Suddenly, a pair of hands alighted upon her shoulders and began kneading gently. She opened her eyes and saw Vaughn standing over her out the crook of her arm. Upon offering a half smile, she was rewarded with an extra squeeze of support. It fed her enough strength for her to sit up and tune back into the conversation.

"What?"

"Why would Sark risk exposure to visit his lackeys?"

"What?"

"What's his objective for this visit? Dealing? Recruiting?"

"What!"

"Why isn't Langley sending reinforcements?"

"WHAT!"

"Marshall!" More than one agent yelled in unison, causing the technical expert to quail, shake slightly, and retake his seat. The 'what's immediately ceased.

Jack reclaimed command of the room with his steady glare trained on each person in turn. They all sat back down, this time Vaughn seated next to his girlfriend and holding her hand for reassurance. Her father either did not notice or had bigger things to worry about at the moment than commenting on keeping one's hands to oneself. He stood stiffly in front of his desk, and if Sydney squinted just right, he looked like he was wearing a suit again and they were back at the Ops Centre in that insipid Conference Room From Hell. Not that being in school was much better. He took one last glance around the room before addressing their questions.

"The CIA has no reason to believe that this mission has been compromised in any way, so we will not be extracted." Syd thought she heard a disappointed groan from Weiss's direction but wrote it off as her own internal voice. "What we do know is that this isn't a pleasure trip. Kendall believes he's holding a meeting with a higher member of the _Negro/Azuls_ that Vaughn isn't privy to." He paused, indicating he did not give substantial credit to this idea. "My theory," He continued, folding his arms across his chest, "is he's recruiting."

"But what would Sark or even Sloane want with a bunch of high schoolers?" Dixon asked, confused.

Jack opened his mouth to respond, but Vaughn beat him to the punch. "The higher-level gang members are really skilled in hand-to-hand, arms use, and espionage. He's just exploiting a gold mine, if Jack's theory is right, which I think it is."

"Thank you, Agent Vaughn, for your vote of confidence," Syd's father replied, sarcasm edging his voice like fringe.

Noticing his friend was back on Jack's bad side, Weiss raised his hand needlessly and questioned, "Well, that still doesn't help us. What are we going to do about this? Not go to school on Halloween?"

Syd could tell she was not the only one who disliked that prospect.

Her father shook his head and leaned against his desk, his face hardening to its texture when he first swooped into the room. "He'll only be there for that day, and if we all don't go to school on that day, it might look suspicious. Marshall has already taken the trouble of implanting a virus in the student database so Sark couldn't look up any of you and see your faces—"

"It'll take that junior who runs the server 'til he graduates with his masters to get that thing up and running again without my help."

"Yes. Anyway, since it's Halloween, and intel suggests Sark will be disguised to prevent recognition, Kendall _strongly suggests_ we all dress up."

Weiss raised his eyebrows in bemusement. "Dress up? In Halloween costumes?"

"Unfortunately, yes," He confirmed through gritted teeth.

"Everybody?"

"Everybody."

"Even you?"

"Even me."

'_So _that's_ why he looked so pissed when he came in here,'_ Syd concluded, struggling not to smile, let alone laugh fit to burst. She could practically feel the jokes streaming through Weiss's consciousness, and while she found him annoying at times, she had no desire to witness his murder, and therefore took initiative and stood up. "Then we better get working on our costumes. See you Monday, Dad." Grabbing her books, Vaughn's arm, and Weiss's collar, the three youngest agents exited the room practically spitting to keep from guffawing. Only when they made it down the stairs and out Entrance E did they feel it was safe to laugh.

They could not stop for five whole minutes.

When he finally regained enough breath to speak Eric wheezed, "After Halloween, I can die a happy man. No matter what Jack's costume is. And at my funeral, you can display pictures, 'cause I'm bringin' a camera."

**

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"So this guy walks into—"

"Heard it."

"You didn't even let me finish. How do you know you've heard it?"

"Just believe me; I've heard it."

"Come on, Syd. Humor me."

"Fine. What were you saying, Weiss?"

"This guy walks into a bar."

"Yeah, definitely heard it before." A Look. "Okay, when you steal your jokes from a seventeen-year-old, you don't get any sympathy laughs from me."

"How's this: a _blonde_ walks into a bar."

"That offends me. I've been a blonde more than once, you know."

"Okay, last one, I swear. An Irishman walks _out_ of a bar!"

"We're just insulting everyone today, aren't we, Eric?"

"Oh, like Vaughn could do any better."

"I can! Check this out: a grasshopper walks into a bar—"

"Vaughn! I've heard that one, too! And no more bars; you'd think we were all raging alcoholics."

"You have to admit that one's funny, though."

"Only the first hundred times you hear it."

"Hey!"

"Here's an idea; why don't you two sit quietly for about a half hour and think up jokes while I find my costume?"

"And why would we—" Eric did not finish; his sentence was cut off by a sequined dress dropping over his head. He, Vaughn, and Sydney had been holed up in the master bedroom of her house all morning trying to find suitable costumes. (She knew it had been more than three hours because they had gone through about three and a half CDs already.) While scrounging through the closet and dressers for a second time, she realized that her house was as stocked with disguises as the safe house in Moreno Valley. She began to see a pattern: Weiss had the technology house, she had a home full of the stuff aliases are made of, and therefore Vaughn must have had the Weapons 'R Us...

"Well if you don't want to look," Vaughn started, resurfacing from a cedar chest under the windows, "what _is_ your costume? You better have one already figured out."

Weiss reclined against the headboard, confidently folding his hands behind his head. "I'm goin' classic-style; no one can mess with an oldie-but-goody."

"Dead football player?"

"Dead football player."

"Well at least you'll blend in," Sydney replied flatly, sitting back on her heels at the bottom of the closet. "There's nothing really appealing in here. How 'bout you, Vaughn? Find anything interesting?"

Before her boyfriend could respond Eric cut in, "Hey, how come _he_ doesn't get yelled at? He's not looking for a costume."

Vaughn rolled his eyes. "Hello! I'm in a gang; it's not as if I can go to school dressed up as Little Bo Peep."

"Although it'd be pretty damn funny." The conversation died for a time as Syd abandoned the closet and started on the dresser next to the cedar chest. The CD changed, and Syd thought Weiss was asleep before he talked again. "So...What do you think Marshall and Dixon are going to be?"

Syd shrugged her shoulders, digging under a pile of halter tops before answering her friend. "They haven't come knocking on my door yet, so either they don't know I've got the disguises, or they're making their own."

"What I'm more interested in," Vaughn said, holding up a pea-green jumpsuit for scrutiny, "is Jack's costume. What the hell could _he_ be planning?"

Weiss sat up, suddenly interested. "I know _I'd_ give my left leg to know what he's going to be."

They both turned towards Sydney expectantly.

Her eyes widened in horror, and she shook her head vigorously, scooting away from both of them with hurried desperation. "Don't you dare try to get information out of me: I haven't talked to him since the meeting yesterday. Vaughn, you can vouch for me."

"How do I know you didn't call him while I was in the shower or something?" Her boyfriend countered, cocking an eyebrow and crawling towards her stealthily.

Eric made a move like he was going to gag and then dash out the open bedroom door. "A little too much information, guys. Let's keep the dirty talk to the — aw, shit. That's it. I'm out of here."

Syd jumped up and barred the door, glaring at him out of narrowed eyes. "You're not going anywhere. I still need to pick out a costume."

He collapsed onto the bed again and sighed in disinterest. "Just be a model and be done with it. Sheesh. You've got enough clothes and the right body to pull it off."

She paused, glancing at the closet full of slinky dresses and remembering the stash of wigs on the top shelf. "You think people'll get it?'

"If you do it right," Eric shrugged, picking dirt from his fingernails. "Plus, it's light years better than being a Goth: that takes practically no creativity. At least, that's what Anne says."

Vaughn and Syd shared a bemused smile at the mention of their mutual friend. Vaughn climbed up to sit next to his fellow agent as his girlfriend returned to the closet. "So what else does Anne say? Any clue as to what they're going to be for Halloween? All she would tell me was that they go as a group every year."

"Then you know more than I do," He answered, abandoning his nails and opting for staring at the ceiling instead. "She didn't even tell me that."

Without looking at him Syd pried, "Trouble in teenaged paradise?"

Confusion paraded through his voice. "I thought you were opposed to any romantic relationship that I might have with her? Not that we have one or anything."

"Hey," She defended, throwing aside wig after wig, "just because she's legal now doesn't mean I've changed my position."

"Still confused."

"You remember what I told you?"

"About what? Oh. Yeah."

"Then we're good. As long as you keep that in mind, I can still be interested in what you have to say."

Vaughn raised his hand. "Uh, a little help, here, guys? I'm kind of lost."

"Never mind," Syd and Weiss brushed off at the same time. She glanced over her shoulder at the fellow agent, and they shared an exaggerated secretive snicker. Vaughn merely frowned and crossed his arms haughtily over his chest.

Turning from the closet, Syd held up a black and pink corset to her chest and a short black skirt to her lower half. "Well? What do you think? I've got a black bob wig that would go great with this."

Both men raised their eyebrows, but for different reasons: Weiss was skeptical while Vaughn seemed more interested in the mental image. After slapping the back of his friend's head Weiss said, "That outfit? Isn't it a bit, um—"

"Revealing?" Vaughn supplied, trying in vain to arrest his eagerness. This earned another slap from Eric.

"Not more than any other mission," She replied, leaving the room for a second to lay the outfit on her bed. "In fact," She called loudly, "this whole mission hasn't seemed real so far because I haven't had to wear something that made me uncomfortable."

"It's about damn time," She heard Vaughn remark, followed by yet another slap of skin against skin.

"That's not what I meant," Eric yelled back as she reentered the room to grab the wig. "Are you sure they'll even allow that in school?"

"I'll throw a jacket over it if they say anything."

Finally, Vaughn could not stand it any longer. Turning to his friend, he roughly pulled him up from the bed and began leading him down the hall towards the front door. "Weiss, you've outlived your usefulness. I'll call you tonight. And Syd? Change into that outfit, but don't get too comfortable; you'll be out of it in about, oh, five seconds."

"No need to push me anymore, buddy: I'm out of here on my own willpower."

**

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"Wake up! Why don't you put on a little make-up!"

"Vaughn...Shut...Up..."

"Syd, that's not me."

"Weiss!"

"And that's my cue to exit."

By the time Syd got up, donned her robe, and made it to the front door, Weiss was already pulling out of her driveway, waving jovially out of the driver's side window. Vaughn caught up to her moments later and was about to chase his best friend's car down the block in nothing but his robe, but Syd reflexively stuck out her right arm, clothes-lining him. She tossed him a look of warning before letting the storm door slam behind her on the way to the bathroom.

After their water-conserving shower, Vaughn hurriedly dressed and left Syd to get her costume together while he scrounged up breakfast. She was still in her bra and skirt when she heard her boyfriend's pleasantly surprised shout resound from the kitchen. As she finished securing her corset, Vaughn reappeared in the doorway brandishing two identical, grease-laden McDonald's bags.

Smiling he proclaimed, "He brought breakfast!"

"I knew that man was good for something."

"Does this mean you won't change your locks?"

"No. But it's enough to make me want to think it over."

Vaughn happily collapsed on the couch under the window, relishing the smell of his bag before opening it and devouring its contents. He watched her while she quickly braided her hair, tucked it under a nylon cap, and began fitting a wavy, pink, bobbed wig over it. (She had scrapped the idea of the black bob; besides, Vaughn had more than mussed it that previous Saturday.) Syd caught his eye in the mirror and smiled through a mouth full of bobby pins. "Whatcha planning, Vaughn? Should this be a _bulletproof_ corset?"

He snorted into his cup of coffee, almost spilling it down his black hooded sweatshirt. "Nothing, babe. I just like watching you get ready. And eating a hot meal is nice a bonus." They shared a grin before continuing on with their respective tasks.

She dragged out the process of applying her make-up as long as possible, pretending to search for the black and then red eyeliner; the lighter-than-normal powder to make her face paler; the blush to make her cheekbones 'pop'. Every once in a while, she would sneak a look out the corner of her eye and catch Vaughn staring again. Once she had finished and was pulling on her one-button blazer, Vaughn casually threw away his wrappers in the garbage next to the couch and moved to block the doorway. Leaning against the frame and barring any possible route around him, he asked nonchalantly, "Can't we just park at Kerr McGee today?"

"I don't know," She replied, coyly playing along. "Those underclassmen can be really feisty when it comes to their parking spots."

"Oh, come on!" He whined, positively pouting as his lip protruded like a puppy's. "I'll make it worth your while. Twice."

Glancing at the clock on her nightstand, she groaned; they were already running two minutes late. "Vaughn, seriously! I'd rather _not_ walk three blocks in these heels and carrying _all_ my crap _plus_ breakfast if I can help it. No matter how sexy you look without that nasty-ass sweatshirt."

He began inching the hem up past his navel, humming a sultry tune.

"I can and will climb out a window."

Her boyfriend's ministrations ceased as his arms dropped to his sides, utterly defeated. "You suck."

A half smile lilted her lips as she pushed past him and led the way towards the door. "You wish."

They took separate cars to school that day, but parked next to each other in the parking lot at Entrance A. On the way to her locker, Syd failed to notice many costumes, as she was more concentrated on spotting a possibly disguised Sark. As they trooped up the stairs to the third floor, the lead-filled butterflies began bounding around in her hollow stomach. Was Sark roaming the halls right now? Was he lurking in one of her classrooms? She did not like this feeling; she was used to having _some_ level of control, if not over the people, then the situation. Now all she had control over was herself, and if she tried controlling anything else, she would break character and be made. It was an all-around lose-lose situation, and it drove Syd crazy. She sat down in front of her locker and picked the egg off her Egg McMuffin, and she merely watched the grease spread from it to the napkin underneath, the actual sandwich all but forgotten. The hashbrowns' bag was practically transparent, and everything was almost too cold to eat. Vaughn spied her carefully, trying to catch her eye, but had to settle instead for lifting her chin to meet his gaze.

"Syd," He started, struggling to suppress a small smile, "we'll be okay. Trust me."

Just like a liberal dose of Pepto Bismal, his words calmed her tempestuous stomach and coaxed a small grin. She did not need him to say anything else: all the assurances he could have possibly given were not only in those few words, but also in the potency of his stare. She thanked her lucky stars that they resolved their 'problems' in time to stand side by side in this.

Gathering up her inedible meal, he winked and nodded towards the staircase. She nodded and waited for him to throw the refuse away before trooping downstairs to Senior Hall and their friends.

A large white rabbit met her at the second floor fire doors. Overcoming her momentary shock, she allowed it to pass and descend the staircase before exiting the stairwell followed closely by Vaughn. They rounded the corner to enter Senior Hall and confronted a scene that could give any of Syd's past missions a run for its money.

Princess Peach, on the arms of both Mario _and_ Luigi, sat along the lockers while one fifth of the Chicago Cubs mingled among scores of doctors and nurses of various vulgarities. All nine main characters from the Lord of the Rings stood on the opposite side of the hallway from the three Harry Potter characters. A giant baseball played cards with a baby, a fairy, and an eighties rocker while all four Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtles perfected a fight sequence by the water fountains. Suddenly, Gumbi on a skateboard came hurtling at the pair from around the next corner, causing them to flatten against the wall and stay there as they let the gorilla chasing him pass without resistance.

As Syd and Vaughn peeled themselves off the lockers, she caught a view of the Weirdest Sight Ever (Including Seeing Eric in a Speedo During a Mission). There, where her friends usually sat, was the entire cast of "Gilligan's Island," all decked out and constantly posing for pictures with anyone who asked. Turning to Vaughn, Syd did not bother to conceal a bubbly laugh before grabbing his arm and leading him through the surprisingly large crowd. They approached Ginger, Gilligan, and the Skipper — who were posing for a picture with an obvious freshmen dressed as a Goth. As soon as the squealing girl (and about six of her friends that suddenly sprung from the woodwork) traipsed happily down the hall, Ginger split from her male co-stars and approached Vaughn.

Giving Syd a good once-over she asked, "Michael, who's your pink friend?"

Sydney recognized the voice immediately and gasped. "Anne?"

"JANE?" Her friend exclaimed, her heavily made-up eyes widening like a deer's in headlights. "Is that really you? Dear Lord, you look old! I mean, twenty-five at least."

She suppressed an audible gulp and the urge to raise her eyebrows.

"What are you supposed to be? A model?"

"Bingo," Syd confirmed, tucking a lock of her wig behind her ear. Looking her friend up and down she asked in confusion, "How did you—"

"Grow half a foot?" Anne supplied, meeting her eyes at the same level for the first time since they made each other's acquaintance. "Don't worry, I'll shrink by the end of the day; these shoes are killing my feet already and this wig itches like a mother." To prove her point, she lifted up her slinky silver dress to expose the same pair of shoes she wore to Homecoming and scratched her three-inch-tall natural red wig at the same time. She began leading them to her locker as she explained, "We go as a group every year. Last year we went as the Ghostbusters — I was Slimer; yay — and this year, it was Henry's turn to choose, so we got stuck with 'Gilligan's Island'. Sigh. At least I already had half the costume."

Syd was about to ask which half when Henry, dressed as Gilligan in white pants, a red sweater, and a sailor's hat, bounded to Anne's side, literally jumping with excitement. "Let's introduce everyone again! C'mon, c'mon! Places, everyone!" Anne made a face reeking of sarcasm before snatching a black feather boa off the floor and 'taking her place'.

All seven characters lined up in front of the white lockers, and a space automatically cleared as if everyone knew someone was going to make a spectacle of themselves. The Skipper pulled a CD player out of his pocket and attached it to a pair of computer speakers lying on the floor next to someone's locker. The first strains of the theme song fought to be heard over the din of the hallway, but suddenly Mrs. Howl broke rank and rushed to shut off the CD player. When the crowd groaned, she ignored them but turned to her fellow castmates. "We have to save this for band! The contest? Remember?" Begrudgingly, the rest agreed, and the semicircle disintegrated on rather nasty terms.

Anne fought her way over to Syd and Vaughn and sighed. "You know about the band costume contest, right?" When both of them still offered blank look she explained, "Guter gives 'prizes' to the funniest, scariest, best overall, and best ensemble costumes. We've won ensemble the last three years running." Her chest practically puffed with pride as she glanced back at her friends. Turning to the two of them again, she spit a black feather off her lip before saying, "Oh! Gilligan, the Skipper, Mister Howl, Missus Howl, Ginger, the Professor, and Mary Ann: Henry, Mike, John Motz, Katie, me, Tobi, and Ruth respectively."

Syd nodded placidly. "Good to know." Just then, Vaughn nudged her in the side and inclined his head towards the stairs. She frowned but nodded again shortly, understanding there was somewhere else he needed to be. Without thinking, they gave each other a kiss on the cheek and a hand squeeze before they separated. Catching Anne's gaze again, her friend opened her mouth to comment but was sidetracked by loud groaning coming from the beginning of Senior Hall. Syd looked past everyone and saw her fellow student/agent.

Weiss was dressed in his football uniform, but he had sprinkled it with baby powder and dirt and had drawn random lines in red magic marker. White clown make-up was spread half-heartedly on his face up to his hairline, and he had also drawn trickles of fake blood in random places. Even to the experienced observer, his cause of death remained uncertain.

Anne slapped a hand to her forehead as he approached the pair, smiling proudly. "What-what the hell are you wearing? Do you have any imagination whatsoever, or is Footballplayeritis really contagious? I think I saw a better costume on a _freshman_. Hell, a _kindergartner_ could put together a better outfit than that in the dark with only duct tape to work with. Not even kidding. Totally serious. What the hell were you thinking!"

'_Something about classic-style and an oldie-but-goody,'_ Syd remembered snidely, but said nothing.

Shaking her head in disgust, Anne clamped her hands around his meaty wrist, kicked Henry in the back of the knee, and commanded sharply, "Fix this. The boy needs major help. And by 'major help' I mean 'a better costume.'"

"Well, what do you want me to do? I've got some math homework still," He replied, his face contorted with disdain as he looked over his fellow band member.

"Get Mike and help him wash off that make-up first of all," Anne said, shoving both of them in the direction of the nearest boys' bathroom. "Then go down to the boys locker room and grab his white gym shirt. Hell, take two towels for a loincloth. We'll start on a grass shirt." The three males disappeared into the bathroom, and Anne and Syd pushed their way towards the former's locker again. Before Syd could even say a word her friend explained, "He can be a Gilligan's Island native. Summer has markers in her locker, so we can colour his shirt. Now, here—" She handed Syd a roll of masking tape and took one herself "—do what I do."

They spent the next fifteen minutes twirling masking tape into three-foot-long strands keenly resembling grass. When Weiss reappeared in his gym clothes escorted by Gilligan and the Skipper, Anne bounded over with the skirt dangling in her outstretched arms and a smile spread from ear to ear. "Just put this on, and we'll fix your shirt. No loincloth? Oh well. Not as if there's anything to cover, anyway. Just kidding! Whoa! Chill, Killer." She handed a brown washable marker to Syd and began drawing the outline of something on his shirt. "A coconut bra," She thought out loud. "How much more classic can you get?"

"That's what _I_ tried for, and what do I get? A skirt and a bra. That's the last time I try to do anything."

Both females slapped him simultaneously but continued to draw on their friend. Before she let him sit down, Anne wrote 'G.I.N.' on the back of his shirt where a nickname would be were it a jersey. Syd turned to her friend and questioned, "Is that really school appropriate?"

"It will be when he tells everyone it stands for Gilligan's Island Native," She responded pointedly. Smirking, Anne scooped up all of her supplies as the first bell rang. People (and animals...and objects...) began scattering, intensifying the previous level of chaos. Weiss bashfully excused himself, and Ginger and the model continued toward Tressaut's room.

"So, tonight," The teenager began, picking tape residue out of her fingernails, "y'all are comin' trick-or-treating with us, right?"

Syd paused, not quite sure how to respond. "I don't know," She finally answered. "Aren't we a little old for that?"

Anne halted mid-stride and stared at her friend in disbelief. "Are you kidding me? We get to dress up, act like fools, _and_ there's free candy involved? Where's the bad? _No one_ is too old for free candy. That's it: you're coming. Ruth and Tobi are staying home; you and Michael can take their places. I mean, you just can't go around as the cast of 'Gilligan's Island' without the Professor and Mary Ann! You're coming, and I don't want to hear another word about it." She closed the conversation by plopping down in her seat and throwing the boa over her left shoulder again.

Sydney shook her head shortly and sat up straight in her seat, eyes darting about the quickly filling room. She was surprised to see that most of the students failed to dress up: there was a pumpkin costume, a half-hearted attempt at a feline of some sort, and several Goths, but other than that, they wore regular attire.

That perception changed as soon as Lara walked through the door. She strolled in talking with Philip West. At first, Sydney did not recognize the tall, now-blonde teen. She had obviously dyed her hair — _'And badly, at that'_ — and was wearing a stereotypical French maid uniform, complete with fishnet stockings, little hat, white apron, and barely-there skirt. _'Oh, she _totally_ stuffed!'_ Syd's mind exclaimed. _'She could not have grown two cup sizes in one night unless...no! She couldn't have. She would have told everyone within a twenty-mile radius if she got implants. Kleenex. That's all it is. Kleenex.'_

The final bell rang, and Tressaut swept into the room, his characteristic travel mug of tea clutched tightly in his right hand. Sydney never took her eyes off him. It had been this way since she saw that tape almost a month ago. While she had not told Jack about what she found (she completely forgot about it in the wake of the EWE Party, and when she remembered, found it slightly less damning than she did that night), she vowed that the next remotely questionable move he made, she would take him into custody herself.

But that first period passed like all the others since her discovery: uneventful, unenjoyable, and unenlightening. She and Anne shot up as soon as the bell rang and practically ran to the band room, eager to grab a good spot to watch the contest as well as get first dibs on the food. (Syd and Vaughn obviously forgot to bring a required item, but Anne let it slide "just this one time.") Both Weiss and Vaughn were already there, securing a spot for their group on the fourth tier in the low brass section. Syd took a seat between the two while Anne hopped down towards the front of the room to supervise food table construction. Instead of the director's stand and chair being the focus of attention, there was a long lunch table pushed back against the closets laden with plastic bags overflowing with candy, cookies, brownies, and chips. One end had cups and liters and twenty-four-packs of pop quarantined on the surface and beneath it on the floor. As the room began to fill, more and more students swarmed, trying to steal a little something before Anne swatted them away from her post in front of the dry erase board.

Weiss, his grass skirt scraping the plastic chair, turned to face Sydney and Vaughn. "Have you two had the occasion to go down to Entrance E yet?" Both of them shook their heads, slightly confused. He widened his eyes pointedly. "It is _completely_ worth the visit." Before either of them could ask why, he tried to suppress his amusement while adding, "That's Dixon's station today. _And he's dressed like a clown._"

The two other agents blatantly stared at him. Syd was the first to recover her vocal chords. "A c-clown? As in—"

"—White face paint, red nose, and a wig even crazier than yours." He raised his eyebrows to go along with his wide eyes.

"We're going there before next hour," Syd ordered.

Weiss was denied a suiting response when the bell rang and Guter waddled in, still clad in his characteristic plaid shirt and khaki pants. As he limped to where his podium would be, he raised his hand unnecessarily for silence. But when he reached his goal, the entire room erupted in laughter, applause, and catcalls. Guter turned towards the music hallway door and laughed despite himself. Luke Krause was waddling Guter-style towards the old teacher. They were dressed exactly alike, down to the square cushion giving Luke extra stomach and Navy anchor tattoos on their right forearms. Guter continued to chuckle as he shook hands with his physical twin and complemented him on his "snappy style".

As Luke waved and climbed the tiers towards the drum line, Guter announced, "If he doesn't win best costume, you all fail." There was another round of applause, but he quickly silenced them yet again. "I've got business to do—" He was cut off by a mass groan, and he frowned deeply at them. "Do you want to go on a trip or what?" If he thought that would pacify the crowd of teens, he was sorely mistaken. The decibel level climbed yet again, but he waited for every last student to quiet before continuing yet again. "I've got business, so I'm leaving Malissa and Anne in charge. Go."

He exited slowly, and both Anne and Malissa stepped into the centre of attention, the former whispering hurriedly into the latter's ear behind a hand. They both turned back to the band and smiled. "Well," Anne began, clapping her hands together, "looks like we've got quite a turn-out this year. As everyone knows, we've got to vote on the best costumes! So would everyone who wants to participate please line up in the hall, come in one by one, and Malissa will write your name on the board. After everyone's gone, we'll vote. Then and _only then_ will we eat. So let's get this done as quickly as possible, people! I didn't eat breakfast this morning!"

The contest went smoothly, considering the entire affair was run by and involved band people. Most of the unorthodox costumes Syd had seen that morning just happened to be owned by musicians: Gumbi (which turned out to be Walter Rahm, and who collided with a chair on his skateboard and flipped over it), the gorilla, Princess Peach and company, Harry Potter, Legolas, Gimli, Frodo, Gandalf, Mark Prior, Sammy Sosa, and two turtles. Andy and Jason Bennet dressed up as one another. When the cast of "Gilligan's Island" took their places, it took an entire minute for the band to calm down long enough to play the theme song. Dani took the CD from the Skipper — Mike — and played it on the stereo. Each of them did something special when their name was mentioned, and at the end Mike even yelled, "Gilligan!" and chased Henry out of the room taking swings at him with his own hat.

Needless to say, they won best ensemble. Luke Krause/Guter won scariest costume and the Bennets won funniest while Gumbi won best overall.

The idyll of second hour eventually ended, though, as it bled into third (Syd got a brief glance at Dixon's multicolored back as she and Weiss ascended the ramp to Lincoln) and eventually four/five (she had a test on the American Revolution, but she could not keep her mind off of how funny it was to see a white rabbit sitting there at a desk, bent over a paper). Her internal tension slowly racheted up during the day. Sydney was constantly on the lookout for anyone remotely resembling Sark; she even tapped into the rumor mill to see if anyone was talking about a specific student teacher more than usual.

Nothing.

For once, the rumor mill had failed her.

She asked Weiss and Vaughn if they had seen anything, but all she received in response were two dolefully shaking heads. As they climbed the stairs on their way to AP Chem Weiss suddenly exclaimed, "Hey Guess who was subbing for Borkowski today? A lion. A lion named _Mister Flinkman_." The other agents clapped hands over their mouths to stifle their laughter. "Yeah," He continued with moderate pride, "he had one of the best costumes _ever_. I was this close to asking him if his mom made it or if he bought it at one of those fancy-pants costume shops."

Vaughn nodded, hiking up his sagging pants. "Well, what I want to see is Mister Tull. I've heard rumors, and—" He never finished. The three of them walked in on the tail end of both a group of students and the warning bell, thus concealing their choking, insane laughter.

There, on top of his desk, stood Jack Bristow — or, more likely, Jack _Sparrow_. The senior agent looked like he had stolen the costume directly from the movie set of "The Pirates of the Caribbean" or even off the back of Johnny Depp himself. From tri-corner hat, leather coat, and dreadlock wig to shell necklaces, empty scabbard, and goat-tee, he was completely decked out in a pirate costume. He even struck Sparrow's signature pose upon his entrance to the movie: Jack had one hand on the top of a meter stick and the other on his hip while he stared out towards the back corner of the classroom. As the final bell rang, he smoothly jumped down and sheathed the meter stick in the scabbard.

Eric, Sydney, and Vaughn were dying. They convulsed with unshed laughter and shrieks; Syd fast developed a headache and stitches, maybe even an ulcer. Weiss was hemorrhaging snorts muffled only by the book he stuck his face in the moment they sat down. Vaughn was probably the sanest of them all: he merely sat rigidly and gripped the sides of the chair so hard that Syd heard the plastic crack.

Jack walked the length of the aisle and back before speaking, all the time avoiding the gazes of all three agents. "We have our alkaline/halogens lab today. Everything's already at your stations. Oh, and Mister White Rabbit, _please_ don't get your ears in the hydrogen sulfate. It'll stain."

Weiss attracted Syd and Vaughn's attention with an extra snort, but it took him thirty seconds before he could squeak out, "Why couldn't he warn me about the silver nitrate? My hands are still brown!"

It was a good thing the three younger agents faced the back wall; if any of them saw Jack Bristow in that costume again, they just might have dropped dead from swallowing their own tongues. They finished the lab as quickly as possible, but remained at the back counter for that same fear.

But another fear was growing in the pit of Sydney's stomach. She had been lucky so far — _too lucky._ No sight of him — not even a rumor! It was _too_ convenient. _'There has to be more to this,'_ She thought to herself as she reorganized her purse. _'Something's gotta go wrong, 'cause I'm feelin' way too damn good. Everything's practically perfect. They don't like when that happens. But where's the loophole?'_

The bell rang unexpectedly then, and the class filed out eagerly; the agents still avoiding Captain Jack like a puddle of liquid in the hallway. The four friends parted outside the door (Anne — who had ditched her heels after second hour — clapped happily at yet another peck from Vaughn to Sydney), and Syd continued down the stairs toward her math room. She paused to throw away a gum wrapper, just missing a man exiting the math office. She was about to yell an obscene remark and blame it on a passing freshman when the enormity of what she was seeing hit her full force.

She would know the back of that head anywhere.

She had chased after its blonde version too many times not to.

It was Sark.

And he was heading towards her classroom.

For the first time in her life — let alone her second go at high school — she seriously thought about ditching class.

Instead she merely ditched the wig and nylon cap in another garbage can, letting her normal brown hair cascade down her back. Rushing to the bathroom, she hurriedly washed off the majority of her excessive make-up and made sure her locks could shield her features if necessary. Although not nearly as concrete as she would like, once these precautions were in place, she jogged back to her math room as the two-minute bell rang. Taking her seat at one of the groups, she discreetly shifted all four desks so that hers directly faced the front board; the screeches of metal on tile were drowned out by a particularly loud conversation between three junior girls.

Sark and Mr. Hassan conversed at his desk, and Syd busied herself with her purse yet again, wishing for once that class would just start already. Her neighbors filled the desks around her as the final bell rang, and through the strands of hair shrouding her face she saw Sark amble towards the computer near the door and take a seat. Mr. Hassan shuffled stacks of papers on his desk as he said, "Alright, settle down children. I may be dressed as Obi Wan, but that's no reason we can't review for Monday's test." Over a mass groan the teacher added, "Oh, and Mister Fox is going to be observing us for the day. Girls, don't get any ideas." The three loud juniors giggled more out of embarrassment than anything else. "Okay, get out your homework from last night. Any volunteers to put solutions up on the boards?"

Every girl immediately shot up her head, coaxing Sydney to do the same, covering up her reluctance with a procured air of boredom. Luckily, he did not call on her.

Glancing at her watch, she grimaced internally. _'I have to endure fifty more minutes of this? Oh, someone shoot me now. No! Wait! I was just kidding! Great job, Syd. Way to jinx yourself.'_

**

* * *

**

"Jane's here, guys."

"Hey, it's Jane!"

"What's up, Jane!"

"It's J to the Pizzle!"

"Cop a squat, Jane."

"Greg's here, too."

"Hey, it's Greg!"

"What's up, Stone!"

"It's G to the Sizzle!"

"Cop a squat, Greg."

"So we're just waiting on Michael, then," Henry said, unashamedly sitting on Anne's lap as she yelled for him to move.

"You rip this dress, Rudolph, and I'll kick your ass five ways from Sunday!"

"Promise?"

"Oh, dear Lord!"

Syd laughed along with the rest of their friends. She sat on the floor next to Mike's legs with her back against the couch. All seven of them were crammed into a small room in Henry's house. The only furnishings were an over-used couch and TV, both of which were being utilized at that moment. Katie Goode and John Motz hopped around on matching mats, jumping from arrow to arrows in sync with arrows on the screen. Before he announced her arrival, Henry had explained they were all playing "DDR" — "Dance, Dance Revolution" — in the TV room, and she was welcome to kick Katie off: she beat everyone every time she stepped onto a mat, and it got "really annoying". So far, the opportunity had not presented itself.

From underneath Henry/Gilligan a hand raised and Anne's voice issued forth slightly muffled. "I'm playing John next. So someone fork-lift this kid off me, please."

"But he sucks!" Katie argued, eyes still glued to the psychedelic screen.

"Exactly!" Anne exclaimed, animatedly waving her arms from behind Henry's back. "I'll look damn amazing!"

As John failed — thereby canceling the round — the doorbell rang, and Henry shot up from the couch with such force it was propelled backwards. Anne pretended to follow him, but instead caught Katie off-guard and playfully shoved her off the mat. John and Anne began a moderately fast song (she lifted up her skirt past her knees, revealing camouflage pajama pants), and the guys began clapping to the beat of the music, somehow throwing John off.

Henry called from the front door, "Michael's here!"

"Hey, it's Michael!"

"What's up, Michael!"

"It's M to the Tizzle!"

"Cop a squat, Michael."

Vaughn sat down next to Syd and automatically slung his arm around her shoulders as Weiss rumpled his best friend's hair from his seat on the couch's armrest. Henry reentered the room and announced, "Everyone's here. Everyone's ready. Let's go. We've got two hours to hit the entire neighborhood—"

"Oh, shut up," Anne commanded, half-heartedly gliding across the pad (and still easily beating John/Mr. Howl). "You've waited this long; you can wait 'til I kick the crap outta John. Hen, why don't you get some pillowcases for our new arrivals; I forgot to tell them to bring some."

Henry pretended to trip Anne before jogging out of the room.

Syd discreetly tapped her boyfriend's leg to get his attention and leaned in towards his ear. "I saw him," She murmured, knowing he would understand what she meant.

His eyes widened before he could check himself, and he buried his head in the crook of her neck to hide his whispered curse. Kissing his way up to her ear he responded, "When? Where? Did he recognize you?'

"No," She breathed heavily, keeping an eye on the group of teenagers, making sure the couple remained under the radar. "He observed my math class, but I ditched the wig before sitting down."

Moving his hand down to the small of her back he asked, "Did he do anything suspicious? Love the costume, by the way."

It took great effort not to moan out loud; he began sliding his hand up under the Mary Ann-style shirt she made that afternoon. "He wrote down a few things, but they might have been arbitrary. I couldn't get any closer without exposing myself. Oh God!" She gasped. His fingers had inched around to her midriff and ringed her navel. "Vaughn, there are going to be five teenagers scarred for life if you don't stop _now._"

Both his hand and mouth retreated as Anne and John stomped on the mat for the last time amid applause. Anne melodramatically wiped her brow before shaking hands with her opponent. "A noble attempt, good sir, a noble attempt. But nowhere near the skills I's got." John took the opportunity to tackle her on top of Mike, and Weiss joined in the fray before Syd or Vaughn could stop him. She kicked and flailed her arms desperately, the two larger males probably threatening to crush her ribs, but when Syd made a move to call them off, Anne discreetly shook her head and winked.

Vaughn and Syd looked at each other, but before Anne could do anything, Henry strolled in carrying two matching pillowcases and a cordless telephone. "Madam President, the Vice President is on the phone."

Still under both Weiss and John (and on top of Mike), she took the phone and stage whispered, "I thought I told you never to call me at this number." Her smile faded quickly, though, as Ben talked. All at once her emotions spiked, sending her livid-o-meter through the roof. He must have said something immensely upsetting because she screamed, "WHAT!" and kicked John in the groin, sending both him and Weiss sprawling to the floor. She rose and started pacing. "HOW THE HELL COULD THAT HAPPEN? No, you're right, Ben. I'm sorry." Her voice paused, but she continued to pace. "Yeah, okay. I'll, um, I'll see you Monday." Hanging up, she threw the phone at the empty space on the couch so hard the plastic cracked. A tense silence wracked the room as Anne merely stood there, breathing heavily and looking like her thoughts were a thousand miles away.

Music started again on the television, breaking Anne out of her reverie and dragging her back to the present. Looking around as if remembering her surroundings, she blinked rapidly before plastering on a faux façade of happiness and clapping once. "Everyone here? All right! Let's go! Time is candy, people!"

As Vaughn helped Syd to her feet, Henry handed each of them a pillowcase for their candy stash. Motioning them forward quickly into the next room he confided, "If she tells you anything, pass it on to one of us. We'll do the same. Whatever it is, she only gets like that when it has something to do with Lara." He stopped abruptly as the rest of their friends began shifting towards the front door. He nodded once and joined the small crowd.

Anne was the last to exit, but she let on no other sign that she was disturbed. In fact, she went out of her way to start up new conversations. At one point, she turned to Vaughn and complimented his costume to the point of overkill. "I'm enjoying the Oxford, Michael. Guessing you couldn't find a sweater vest? Should've asked Stone! Ha! Oh well. Khakis ain't a bad touch, either. Stole 'em from your dad? 'Ats's what I though. Wingtips? Sweet.

"Jane, you too: nice costume. Cute shirt! Where'd you get it? Not that I could ever wear it, but it's fun to look at." They arrived at a house, got their candy, and continued on.

Things proceeded in much the same manner for most of the time. At least until something in Anne snapped. Vaughn, Syd, and Weiss were walking somewhat behind the group, tiring of the old Halloween tradition quicker than their classmates and feeling more like parents or baby-sitters than teenagers. The three agents were having a hushed conversation about Sark and his possible whereabouts when Anne stopped them in the middle of the street.

"I bet y'all are wondering what Ben said," She started calmly, chin jutting out defiantly. "Well, I'll just tell you straight. Lara joined band. That was Guter's 'business' during second hour today. Well, besides the band trip. He was filling out transfer paperwork." Turning to Syd she added ruefully, "Let the payback begin."

Her friends seemed to share her initial indignation in this news, because they all dropped their bags to the ground and began shouting at her, demanding more information. She just stood there, hands raised in surrender, calmly taking their grief. "Believe me, guys, I feel the _exact_ same way, but that's all I know, and I _really_ can't do anything about it."

Weiss, who was as fired up as the rest of them, placed himself between Anne and the threatened couple, probably to block any possibly incriminating reactions from view. "Can't you do something to, I don't know, make this _not_ happen?"

Anne rolled her eyes, almost bored. "As much as you might think so, I'm not God. Or Guter. So, no, I can't do anything about it. Unless I break into the assistant principal's office and—"

Syd tuned out then. As soon as Anne announced her news, Vaughn had latched onto Syd's waist with a circulation-stopping grip. _'So I'm not the only one who's slightly afraid,'_ She remarked to herself, wrapping her own arm around her boyfriend's waist. _'But why? I mean, she's just a teen _girl_ with a body like a twig__ Oh wait. I need to think like a teen. Okay. She could ruin my social life, forever dooming any prospect I had of gaining information for this mission. Wow. Alright, I'd say that's a good enough reason to panic. But if everyone else in band thinks like these people,'_ She reasoned in her mind, _'then they won't believe anything she says about Vaughn and me! And if she does anything, I'd have the entire band behind me as my own little assassination squad! And bass drums really pack a wallop...'_

Vaughn, reading her mind like he had done countless times before, asked quietly, "Does everyone hate Lara _comme toi?"_

He received five pairs of eyes glaring back at him unabashedly like he just asked if Guter was the end all, be all. John Motz was the one who answered, "Just slightly."

Henry expanded, "She played cymbals our freshman year. Everyone in band knows the story of St. Rita's. We were at this competition, and she dropped and cracked her cymbals so that she couldn't play the rest of the show. To this day, she's the one we blame for our only second place trophy."

"I _still_ say we should have won," Mike groaned. "Stupid two-tenths of a point. They should have given it to us, anyway! They pronounced Guter's name wrong, damn it!"

"How is that possible?" Weiss asked quizzically, reclaiming his pillowcase from the street.

"James L. _Gutter_!" The band students replied in unison, laughing as they said it. Everything reverted to its previous state, pre-Lara News. They strolled down the street talking amiably, though slightly reserved.

Anne slowly made her way to the back of the group and to Syd and Vaughn. She looked reluctant to say anything, but she plowed on. "Um," She began oh-so-gracefully, "no one would blame you if you quit. I mean, it's the beginning of concert band season, so it's not like you're letting anyone down or anything—"

"Okay, stop," Syd commanded, channeling Vaughn for a moment. "Why would we quit? Why would we stop doing something we love just because of _her_?" Syd's friend smiled genuinely, prompting Syd to grin as well. "Plus, it's past the drop period. It'd show up as a zero on my transcript. No way."

Anne laughed loudly before covering her mouth. Katie, Henry, Mike, and John glared at her reproachfully. It was then Syd noticed they had stopped talking and walked as quietly as possible. She was about to ask Anne what was going one when Vaughn clapped a hand over her mouth. Shaking his head vehemently, he leaned toward her and whispered, "Prime gang area. We've gotta stay quiet." She nodded solemnly, grateful she had worn a pair of sneakers instead of heels. The group continued on down the street in silence and in haste, continually checking over their shoulders. Sydney's ears strained to hear anything besides the steady whoosh of cars bustling down Geneva Road about seven blocks away.

Just when Vaughn's body language (and grip on her hand) eased, a pair of headlights turned the next corner, and a clanging, grinding beater car came barreling at them. The others dived out of the path of light just in time — Anne had grabbed Weiss's arm and lunged with all her might — leaving Syd and Vaughn momentarily exposed. "Shit," Syd heard her boyfriend whisper before instinctively forcing the pair to leap behind a low garden hedge. That was when the shots began ringing out. One did not set itself apart as the instigator; instead they came in a barrage of untrained mass, raining around like hailstones in a summer storm. Windows shattered, birds squawked, car alarms blared, and wood cracked as the bullets seared through tree trunks and siding. They rolled a few feet before Syd hopped to her feet and ran doubled over to a thicker section of hedge, hoping Vaughn was right on her heels. Syd could see nothing; the houses on this block were either abandoned or no one was home, and the nearest street lamp was three blocks away. She felt utterly alone and helpless, not to mention afraid for her boyfriend's life.

It felt like hours before the foliage beside her depressed, and she could hear Vaughn breathing heavily next to her. The car had stopped in the middle of the street and its occupants jumped out, searching for them; she could hear their low Spanish commands and curses. Grasping for his hand, she squeezed it to let him know she was okay, and he did the same. He brought her hand to what she assumed was his leg and ran it over the piece he carried.

Her other hand sought out his head, and when she found it, she brought it close to her lips. "No!" She whispered, barely uttering an audible decibel. "We need to maintain our covers!" She made no mention of the small knife she lashed to her bra strap before she had left the house that afternoon.

When Syd deemed the voices far enough to be safe, they crept along the hedge until it met with the house. They reached its even darker shadow, and when Syd stood up, she smacked straight into another person. Her hand shot straight to that knife, but the voice that accompanied the figure brought it back down. "Don't worry; it's me."

"Anne?" Syd gasped, unable to mask her incredulity. The figure hissed assent. "Where's everyone else?" _'Especially Weiss. He's the one who should be here. Not some eighteen-year-old!'_

"Greg took them back through the forest. It's a shortcut to Henry's house. Come on. We need to go now " Peeking around the corner of the house nearest the street, she whipped back around, eyes wide in the darkness, and slid along the building to its back. "They're really close," She whispered. Turning to Vaughn, she asked as an afterthought, "What the hell did you do to them?"

Shrugging, he answered in French, _"Ils me reconnaitent."_

"How could they recognize you?"

"It doesn't matter," Syd replied for him, anxious to get Anne out of the line of fire. "Where do we go?"

"Just follow me." Her eyes darted about the dark backyard just as Syd's did, memorizing the shadowy figures and mapping out an escape route. But just as they started to make for Shadowy Figure Number One, a light flickered on right above them. Immediately, more shots began firing in their direction, and the three of them merely ran for it, darting and dodging around logs and Playskool plastic toys. They safely reached the woods, and their speed noticeably decreased, none of them knowing the area well enough to be confident in their movements.

Anne took the lead, and Syd seized the opportunity to leach an explanation off of Vaughn. Finding his arm, she latched onto it and tugged. "How the hell _could_ they recognize you?"

He sighed in exasperation, almost running into a birch when he took his eyes away form his path to look at her. "My blue shirt."

Still confused she asked, "But what does that have to do with anything?"

This time Vaughn stopped completely, not concerned that Anne was getting farther and farther ahead. "You really have no idea, do you?"

"No!"

"Syd, I think you need to know what it's really like," He murmured, calmly and carefully. "I think you need to come with me to our next deal."

She nodded slowly, knowing he would understand her answer.

Anne hissed at them, sounding almost a mile away in the darkness as a gust of wind rustled what was left of the leaves on the trees. Hand in hand, the picked their way towards her, an ugly cloud of dread trailing just behind them.

_**TBC . . .**_

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**Chapter Eighteen:** Gangs of West Chicago  
**Chapter Nineteen:** Reminiscent of Times Past

Hope you enjoyed! I haven't said this enough, but constructive criticism is always welcomed, appreciated, even. Telling me what you liked about a chapter helps me do it again! Thanks for reading my humble attempt at entertainment. Your feedback makes me smile.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	18. Gangs of West Chicago

**Si je dois expliquer tout le**** monde, vous avez besoin d'aide que je ne peux pas vous donner.**

**Addition to Disclaimer:** If you think I'm racist because of this chapter, you need your head checked. Or you need to wait and see what else happens in this story, 'cause it'll blow away all your assumptions.

**Chapter Genre: **Suspense, angst, action/adventure...Everything I usually don't write.

**This Chapter: **Syd goes under-undercover to a _Negro/Azul_ drug deal with an unexpected outcome...

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Gangsta's Paradise" by Tupac, "Wait" by Earshot, "Judith" by Perfect Circle, "45" by Shinedown

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**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Eighteen: Gangs of Glenfield**

First flute.

Sixth chair out of seven, but it was still first flute.

How the hell did she make first flute? How did she beat out twelve other girls (Noah made second piccolo, so he need not be included) who most definitely had been playing exponentially longer than she had? Every time she thought about it she smiled: she could add another asset to her résumé under 'skills'.

Weiss made second tuba, beating out freshman Allan Edgars (maybe; he had an identical twin named Matthew who played the trombone, and no one could tell them apart). Vaughn made...actually, none of the agents understood the percussion section pecking order, forcing all three of them to ask Anne. She explained that Guter placed people in broad categories — mallets, toys, snare, bass drum, cymbals, tympani — and let the students figure out who played what when. Vaughn was placed on cymbal detail, so he was not horribly disappointed. Anne, on the other hand, made first chair first flute, a "total surprise." But when the two practiced together on the day of flute auditions — Anne had no reservations about giving a little advice to anyone who asked, even sweating freshmen — Syd had to restrain herself from packing up her instrument then and there, walking out the door, and throwing it in the nearest body of water. "Total surprise," her ass.

Word got out that the annual band trip was to Disney World in Florida. The buzz about the trip over the summer was practically incessant, and when the three student/agents failed to show to the mandatory meeting, each was berated by Anne, making Syd feel more guilty than she probably should have. But, Vaughn had reminded her, when they finally took down the drug ring, all six CIA agents would be exposed, and there would be no need to stick around the high school, not when Sloane was still at large. In short, even if it did take more than a year to complete their mission, they could not take _a week long_ trip out of state. "But don't worry," Vaughn had assured, "the next free time we get, we'll take a vacation to Disney World. Just you and me. Together."

This lifted Sydney's spirits considerably.

What sent them crashing back down was the seventeen-year-old addition to the percussion section.

News of Lara's addition to the band spread faster than even the juiciest rumor; Sydney had three casual acquaintances call her that Saturday morning after Halloween to confirm the horrible truth. That being said, when Syd and Vaughn walked into an unusually calm band room that first Monday morning of concert season, neither of them were surprised to see Lara on the opposite side of the percussion section as the rest of the drum line. Second period proceeded unnervingly smooth: the entire band was serious for _the majority_ of the period. Syd greatly appreciated it: she thought their swift cooperation with every order was somehow connected with Lara's presence.

Anne quickly corrected her friend's theory. She said the band usually behaved this way during the transition from marching to concert band; eventually they would all settle into the difficult music and have fun with it. "But if you want to think it's because of Lara, go ahead; I just don't think so," Anne had concluded with a shrug. "Whatever gets you through the day." She then propositioned her friend, trying to coerce her to buy some cookie dough for the Disney fundraiser. Syd bought three tubs — _not_ all out of guilt.

The day after auditions were over, Vaughn approached Syd before the bell ending second hour rang and slipped her a note. Their fingers brushed for the briefest of moments and she smiled, but the solemn set of his eyes quelled her instantaneous reaction. Upon the prolonged beep, she and Weiss exited via the music department entrance. She pulled on his swim team sweatshirt so that he walked in front of her, effectively blocking both obstacles and curious eyes. Unfolding the notebook paper and hastily reading it, she sighed heavily. It contained few words, but each one was like a nail in her coffin: _'It's time. Saturday night at ten. I'll spec everything out Friday. Love you.'_

Shit. She never wanted to go along with this, but her father must have been thinking along the same line as Vaughn, because he heartily agreed with her boyfriend's suggestion. And what the hell could Vaughn have to 'spec out' with her? How exactly did he expect her to go about attending his deal? _'Dear Lord,'_ She thought, crumpling the note and zipping it into her purse. _'This entire ordeal is not worth the trouble. There was only _one_ druggie for a reason, you know.'_

**

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**

When the doorbell rang that Friday night at nine PM, Syd was startled out of her sitcom-induced slumber. Groggy and reluctant, she stumbled to the door and mumbled an unintelligible greeting. Vaughn, his briefcase in tow, breezed confidently past her, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek before settling down in his usual seat on the couch. Before even attempting a coherent conversation, Sydney stalked into the kitchen, grabbed a Mountain Dew, and slouched down on the love seat. Popping the tab and taking a long drag from the can, she glared at her boyfriend as if he had just threatened her life. He continued to root around in the briefcase, shuffling papers and folders, ordering chaos. She had to speak in order to be acknowledged.

"Vaughn," She stated clearly, nearly missing the table when she went to place her pop upon it, "why the _hell_ are you interrupting my sleep? Don't you disrupt it enough? Now you have to _wake me up_ as well?"

"Sydney," He sighed, hands resting for a brief moment as he glanced up at her, "we have to go over the specs for the meet. I thought my note was clear about that."

She nodded slowly in agreement. "Yes, it was. But what could you _possibly_ need to spec out with me? Aren't I just observing, like from a distance? As in cameras and comm. link distance?" He did not respond, and her lackadaisical form began to awaken: she straightened in her seat, and her eyes opened wide in alarm. "I'm not actually interacting with them, am I?"

"Bingo," He replied shortly, still sorting his stacks. She groaned in response, slumping down against the sofa's back. Glancing up, he smiled sadly at her disappointment and ceased his movements to cover her hand with his in reassurance. "Don't worry; I'm sure you'll do fine."

"Of course I'll do fine!" She exclaimed. "But...I...just...I don't want to, Vaughn!" She moaned. "Especially when it's not in my job description."

"A lot of things weren't in the job description," He replied pointedly. She smiled and sat up, willing herself to be receptive to what he had to say. "Now are you ready to listen to me?"

"Yes, professor," She chimed. "Hey, if I do well, do I get extra credit?"

"Syd!" Vaughn groaned half-heartedly, producing a manilla folder from the bottom of his briefcase. "Be serious! Please. You were never like this when we were trying to take down SD-6."

Syd sobered upon hearing that word. "You're right. I'm sorry," She conceded. Shifting in her seat she commanded, "Talk to me. Teach me your ways, great master. I am your Jedi to mold."

Frowning at her severely, he handed her the folder for inspection. "Alright. All important gang member profiles are in there including pictures and wrap sheets. _El Papí_ is in there, as well." Syd looked up from the folder, recognizing both the name and the face from her planted cameras in Tressaut's room.

"His wrap sheet is practically a mile long!" She exclaimed, flipping through the seven pages of Pablo Calleros's profile. "Are they all this long? 'Cause I can only memorize so much."

"He's the gang's king for a reason." Locking gazes for a moment, Vaughn's eyes added a silent warning. "But there are a few I've made friends with. Turn the page." She did, and the face of they boy (she refused to think of him as a man) who sat next to her in French stared back at her. "That's Recruit Antonio Garcia, a freshman. He's first generation from Puerto Rico, and they tend to put both of us through the most vigorous hazing because we're not Mexican."

"What kind of hazing?" She queried curiously, watching him closely for any tells.

He shrugged off her question. "Nothing you need to worry about. Oh!" She had turned the page again to face another gang member, and he pointed at the picture with his pinky finger. Her hand twitched as if to close the folder and return to the question. True, it was not necessary for her to know what hazing he had to go through, but...Her stomach quivered at the notion of not knowing. She let it slide, though, and she noticed the marked rounding of his shoulders as she did. "Jorge Macicas: known as _Los Ojos_ to the gang because he's the eyes of Calleros. He's like Security Section, only slightly less high-tech. Watch out for him: he's got pretty good instincts."

Eyes not leaving the profile in front of her she asked, "Has he caught on to you yet?"

His silence caused her to look up. He bit his lip and raised his eyebrows. "Honestly, we're not the greatest of friends. He hasn't liked me from the beginning, but I think he's warming up to me." She waited expectantly. "The last few..._assignments_ I've been on, I've come back successful. I think he's starting to trust me."

"We'll be able to use that to our advantage," She mumbled distractedly, flipping to yet another photo. She would get through this much quicker if he refrained from sharing these extraneous persona tidbits; all they did was make her nervous. So she attempted to shut him out by concentrating on memorizing the profiles and wrap sheets, but her brain would not let her: the fried compartmentalizer from the first day of school had returned from the shop and was ready and willing to go to work. In other words, his little stories came in loud and clear.

He nodded towards the folder as he took it away from her, extracting three sets of documents and laying them out on the table in front of her. "Now, Gilberto Gonzales —" He pointed to the first photo "—is security for the meets, bodyguard, bouncer, get-all-up-in-my-grill-and-I'll-bust-a-cap-in-your-ass style. His favourite cronies are Felipe Martinez and Jose Valdez." He pointed to the other two.

Cracking a half smile, she grabbed the folder again. "Any street cred you earned with the 'up in my grill' just died. Cronies? Try again."

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm better with the Spanish slang, believe me. Antonio's been teaching me. He's really a great guy; it breaks my heart to see him try so hard to get into something so lousy."

She smiled sadly and squeezed his hand reassuringly. "Just think," She said, "the faster we take these guys down, the fewer people get roped into this situation." Vaughn shrugged his eyebrows and nodded. She dragged her eyes away form his, only to discover she had come to the back of the folder. Reclaiming the profiles on the table and replacing them, she shut the folder and gave it back to him. "Anything else I should know?"

Reluctant, he took it and placed it in his briefcase. "Are you sure you don't want to keep it?"

"I memorized them all."

"Already?"

"Yeah-huh."

"Oh. Okay." He began packing up again, carefully avoiding her eyes as he bit his lip.

She caught on to him and sat back on the couch, curling her legs underneath her. "Okay, Vaughn, I'll bite. What aren't you telling me?" He continued to shuffle about, eyes glued to the tabletop greatly in need of a polish. Something clicked in her brain then, and she answered herself with another question, "What's my cover? What am I going in as? Stop messing around and look at me, Vaughn. You know you can tell me anything."

Vaughn sighed, closed his briefcase, and produced a paper that had not been touched since he first arrived. He hesitated in handing it to her as he said, "At our last meet, Calleros gave me an assignment." He paused again, toying with a corner of the paper.

In an attempt to help him along she supplied, "To seduce a goody-two-shoes?"

He shook his head, frustration pooling in the deep folds in his forehead. "Not exactly. He told me to find a high-end prostitute."

Syd's eyes widened, and her eyebrows raised in shock. "Oh."

"He didn't tell me what it was for," He rushed on, trying to sugar coat the lemon wedge that had already been digested. "For all I know, he could be just looking for connections to other underground networks. Here: this is your cover." Vaughn's hand practically vibrated as he handed her the cover's profile. "Your alias is Vivienne Cambodie, a twenty-six-year-old prostitute from Paris, France. Michael Tibot made your acquaintance about three years ago in a prison cell in Marseilles. You have no family — they all died in a fire — and no other source of income. You only speak French; that way they'll be more apt to speak freely around you. That is, if you're still there..." He trailed off, glaring at her intently.

She merely nodded as she looked over the sheet briefly before handing it back. "Got it. Anything else?"

"No," He replied shortly, sliding the document into a secret compartment on the bottom of the briefcase. Scooting closer and clasping her hands in his he said, "Look, I completely understand if you don't feel comfortable about this. You don't have to do it if you don't want to: I won't go or I—I'll find somebody else or something—"

"Like hell you will!" She interjected, squeezing his hand. "Vaughn, if you don't go, you could be killed. No, I don't like this, and no, I'm not comfortable with it, but _I'll live_. I've done this before, and I'll probably end up doing it again sometime. It's — I just—" She struggled to put the thoughts running through her mind faster than the speed of light into words. Her boyfriend rubbed the pad of his thumb over her knuckles, and she smiled sadly, the words raising above the chaos like Braille. "I want to be there for you like you were there for me when I was a double with SD-6. You were so great and supportive, and I promised myself if I ever got the opportunity, I'd do the same for you. So—" She cuffed him lightly on the shoulder "—good luck in Chicago."

He chuckled lightly and pulled her into a smoldering kiss. When they parted, he tossed the briefcase on the ledge behind the couch and moved to sit next to Syd on the love seat. "Sorry for ruining your evening," He apologized, draping an arm around her shoulders. "Is there any way I can make it up to you?"

A sly grin spread across her face, and her fingers began dancing at the hem of his shirt. "Oh, I can think of a few ways, and they all end with us in the bedroom."

"Well I was thinking dinner and a late movie first, but you're the prostitute — I mean, boss."

"Shut up and take off your pants."

"Since when were we in band?"

"Gah!"

**

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**

"Would you stop squirming already! Sheesh! You'd think you've never done this before!"

"It's this damn skirt, Vaughn! It keeps riding up me bum."

"Cut the English accent, Syd; you're French now."

"_Va te faire foutre. Tais-toi! Il faut que tu conduise parce que je suis impatiente._ How's that for French?"

"_Sous ma bille."_

She lightly slapped the back of his head. "Keep the dirty talk to the bedroom, Michael. And seriously concentrate on the road. The last thing we need right now is to be wrapped around a telephone pole."

"That's more like the Vivienne Cambodie I propositioned."

"Whatever."

Their conversation lulled as Vaughn continued to whiz down side streets in a style reminiscent of one trying to shake any possible tails. They had been driving for a good _hour and a half_ — traffic in _Chicago_ on a _Saturday night_ was not the easiest to navigate — and her outfit was becoming slightly uncomfortable. The leather skirt either stuck to the seat or rode up her backside, keeping her in constant motion. Her black shimmery apron shirt disallowed any bra, and Vaughn had taped her breasts too tight, practically cutting off her circulation; she had been trying to adjust herself ever since they drove onto the highway.

They began to slow as Vaughn pulled his car into a parking garage. He placed a small, yellowed card in the window as he got out. It was threadbare, and its only distinguishing characteristic was the letters 'N/A' written in permanent marker upon one side. She assumed it stood for _'Negro/Azuls,'_ and she exited the car all the more cautiously for her supposition. As he began leading her out and down the street, hand poised protectively on the small of her bare back, she leaned towards him and whispered discreetly, "Are you packing?"

He nodded shortly and guided her hand to the small of his own back, where she felt the unmistakable outline of a Barretta M-9. "Company issued," He mumbled through pressed lips. She did not have to brush his ankle to know he had a knife strapped there as well.

As they walked towards their unknown destination, Sydney began both her mental and physical shifts into her cover. The length of her stride changed as did the swagger of her hips, the height of her chin, and the swing of her arms. _'I am Vivienne Cambodie,'_ She chanted in her mind. _'I have sex with men for money. Michael Tibot hired me for a meeting I know nothing about; he just promised me big money. And I have no problem with that because I'm a prostitute and that's what I do. I'm a whore and I love it. Oh, if only Guter and the colour guard could see me now...'_

The meeting place was a warehouse.

She should have known.

It called back memories of a time she had never witnessed, of pictures she had seen while flipping carelessly through her American History book. The two-story-high brick walls were chipped and without ivy, a testament to the harsh city environment. Large windows with many cracked panes of various and mismatching hues wrapped around the entire second floor, giving the impression that the building was most probably hollow. Dumpsters overflowed with long-forgotten garbage, trash heaps merging seamlessly with the loose litter thrown about by the wind. It was abandoned in every sense of the word.

A siren wailed in the distance, and Vaughn instinctively pulled her out of the circle of light they had wandered into. She suppressed a silly smile, but allowed herself a superior smirk. Catching a glimpse of a service door about ten yards down (it was darker than the surrounding brick), she began to breathe faster, but she stopped altogether when he pulled her towards a nondescript dumpster. Hidden in its shadow stood another unmarked service door, slightly cleaner than a door to an abandoned warehouse should be. After a cursory glance in both directions, he swiped his index finger in two perpendicular lines and knocked one knuckle against their intersection. The door mumbled something in unintelligible Spanish, her boyfriend mumbled a response, and the door swung open without so much as a squeak.

Vaughn allowed her to pass through first, guiding her with the fingertips on the small of her back. She shuffled her stiletto-clad feet along the grungy floor, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the impenetrable darkness. But before that could happen, a bag shrouded her head followed by a sharp, accented whisper to relax, that it was merely protocol and had to be done for her own safety. She nodded her understanding, the burlap scratching her forehead.

Now she really did need him to lead her. He took her by the elbows and directed her in a winding path — their footfalls not echoing like she expected them to — that ended with a staircase going downwards. It took them a solid ten minutes to descend that, and when her heel hit level concrete, she began to hear hushed voices conversing in rapid Spanish. They grew louder as the pair assumedly approached and then stopped abruptly. Syd suddenly felt really self-conscious. She felt a cool breeze ruffle the hem of her 'shirt' and play tricks with the straps of her heels, indicating they were either outside or there was an extremely bad draft in the room.

"Is this her?" A strong male voice, heavily accented, inquired from straight in front of her. It had to be Calleros. She stuck out her hip, causing her skirt to ride up an inch or so, and dug her fists into her waist — partly to keep her shirt in place, partly for effect.

The hands left her elbows, and Syd instantly felt more naked than she already was. "Yes," Vaughn answered carefully, his French drawl cloaking his voice. "Zis is _Vivienne Cambodie_; she only speak French. Ees okay to talk around 'er."

Despite his reassurance, no one returned to their previous conversations, presumably because Calleros had yet to deem her a non-threat. The atmosphere in the room shifted, and the breeze was blocked for a moment as she felt — rather than heard — Calleros circling her, surveying her goods. _"Ella tiene piernas agradables para una punta,"_ He spat out rudely, hand hovering over her shoulder for a brief moment before dropping lower. _"Y una multa maldita como."_ Sydney successfully fought the urge to deal him a swift roundhouse kick and settled instead for shifting her legs to show off her assets. Calleros blocked the breeze again as he stood directly in front of her. "She is...okay," He assessed, the limits of his English painfully apparent. She supposed they used the language when Vaughn was around: it was the only language they had in common. "Take off bag: I want to see face."

Ever the gentleman, Vaughn removed the burlap as slowly as he could get away with, allowing her to adjust to the blinding light. She blinked rapidly, her eyes watering and head pounding as everything compensated for the paralyzing brightness. But when they fully adjusted, the blinding light turned out to be a fading docking bulb in the back of the building. Indeed, Vaughn had led them outside to the loading/unloading bay in the rear of the warehouse. The hierarchy of the gang was painfully obvious. One chair ruled over the bunch in the open docking door; five other young men sat along the lip; and about twenty others stood on the soiled concrete below.

Everyone was dressed in blue and black — _Negro/Azul_ — she understood now.

Did that mean she could go home?

For a moment, she panicked: thoughts of turning and running as fast as her high-heeled feet raced through her mind. But Calleros's gaze kept her frozen in her spot. There was something about him — about the way he looked, the way he carried himself, the way he looked at her — that made Sydney want to stick around. Stick around and wipe that God damn smirk off his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and appraised her once more. "She will have to do," Calleros sighed finally, sneering slightly. "A-Man failed to get anyone." He glared at a short, bald-headed young man standing in the very corner.

'_That must be Antonio Garcia,'_ She concluded sadly. The dejected way he scuffed his feet into a crack made Syd's heart go out to him. _'Poor kid. He only wants to feel like he's a part of something. He was probably never good at anything and is only trying this as a last resort. No wonder Vaughn likes the him.'_

She did not have any more time to reflect, though; Calleros zoomed into her face again, his suspicious breath almost making her gag. He gestured to one of the 'middle class' men behind him. _"¿Qué piensa usted, Macias?"_

A tall man with unusually broad shoulders and a backwards visor hopped down and circled her as well, finishing with a jerk as he stopped in front of her. Calleros backed away, but Macias stayed where he was. She had the sudden sensation of being naked in the middle of a crowded room: she felt utterly exposed. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and the amount of perspiration present increased, but she was too immersed in the roll to let her body react any further than that. She also understood why Vaughn cautioned her against him. After what seemed like an eternity, he too backed away, even with Calleros, and nodded once. _"Ella está bien. Las miradas un pequeño viejo, pero ella son todo tenemos. __Ella no esconde nada, cualquier."_

Calleros dismissed him with a shake of his head, and he returned his attention to Sydney. He ran a hand over the smooth skin of her bicep, and she felt Vaughn twitch angrily beside her as Calleros's hand strayed dangerously near her left breast. "Are you good, _Mamí_?" He asked slyly, speaking directly to her. "Are you worth money?"

Pretending not to really understand, she looked at Vaughn out of the corner of her eye, and he translated for her. She nodded smugly at Calleros, procuring an air of boredom and condescension towards the younger gang king pin. _"Oui. Mais est-ce que tu as l'argent? Je suis très cher, peut-être trop cher pour toi. __J'ai pas le temps si c'est vrai."_

Not missing a beat, Vaughn turned towards Calleros and lied through his teeth. "She says she cannot wait to be your bitch." Staying in character, she threw Vaughn a dirty look, knowing by the number of words that he had not translated correctly.

Calleros merely nodded once, unfazed by the cloudy dishonesty. "Good. But she not for me. She for Mister Sark: pay for tonight's shipment. And she better be good: you cover A-Man too much. If she fail, all three—" He drew his index finger in a slow line across his throat in an unmistakable threat on their lives.

Again, she pretended not to understand, but instead of dutifully translating, Vaughn relayed hastily-laid plans. "I'll convince them I need to be with you first," He quickly drawled in French. "Then we'll...figure something out."

It took the two gangsters ten solid minutes of haggling to broker a deal for her trial: Sark was supposed to arrive with in about a half hour. He had 'til then to 'break her in.' Vaughn led her back into the warehouse through yet another service door next to the open docking bay. As soon as she deemed it safe, Sydney turned on her boyfriend, opening her mouth to rebuke him, but he beat her to it. "I know this isn't good—" mouth still open "—I know you're not going through with this—" still open "—I know you don't want to see Sark—" still open "—and I know we'll think of a way out."

"Damn straight!" She whispered harshly, careful to keep her volume in check. "Sark will recognize me in two seconds! And I am not — repeat: _am not_ — sleeping with him or doing anything that involves touching him for his pleasure."

"I second that opinion," Vaughn responded, equally adamant. "But we need a plausible plan of action. I mean, it's not like we can just walk out of here."

"Why not?" He gave her a Look and she shrugged. "What? You've got a gun and a knife; I've had to make do with less before. And plus—"

"A gun with no extra ammo," He interrupted, extracting the object from the waistband of his pants and showing her the only full clip. "And we can't fight off over twenty men who _all_ have guns. As much as I'd like to think so, I can't protect you from all of them."

Syd's shoulders sagged in exasperation. "That's very nice, dear, but I'm not gloss; I can sure as hell take care of myself. Plus—" she wrenched off one of her stilettos and offered it for examination "—the heels are smoke bombs, and there are two ninja stars in each: both courtesy of Marshall." She smiled proudly at Vaughn's look of bewilderment. "I did my homework, too, Agent Vaughn."

A hint of a smile played across his lips as he pried open the secret compartment on the sole of the shoe and tipped out the ninja stars into his palm. "Do you really think four'll be enough?"

She knew _one_ would be enough, but just to settle him down — and too much backup was never a bad thing — she glanced around the dark warehouse, trying to discern barrels from lumps of rotting crates. "Is there an office around here? Or at least a room with lights or windows?"

Vaughn nodded and, giving the shoe and stars back, led the pair back towards the first door they had entered. Now, by the light of a small, previously unnoticed window, she could see the outline of a bulky man, hunched over and picking the dirt from under his fingernails with a pocketknife. He must have heard them approaching, because he looked up sharply, wielding the weapon threateningly. Her boyfriend merely raised his hands in defense before pointing to his left and nodding at her. She could not see his facial reaction, but by the incrementally slow speed at which he rose, she bet that he was sneering at them. The man — Gilberto Gonzales, she assumed — left his seat but turned and opened the previously hidden fuse box behind his head. He flipped a switch, and a light sputtered to light off to her left in a room that she had not noticed before. Vaughn nodded to Gonzales and led Sydney inside with a hand a little lower than necessary on the small of her back.

It was a small, dilapidated office covered in a layer of dust consistently one inch thick. Through the large window, the light illuminated Gonzales's hulking mass. He squinted and tried to block out the unusual substance, and Vaughn finally sidestepped a desk to release the blinds and shield them from view. Syd closed the door behind her as she glanced around the room. File cabinet drawers hung out limply and overflowed with long-forgotten documents. The chair was riddled with dark splotches that looked suspiciously like blood, but were more than likely the byproducts of one too many dropped non-Chicago-style hot dogs. Opposite the desk and window skulked a moth-eaten couch with flat, discolored cushions.

Vaughn gestured for Sydney to sit, but she politely declined. Instead, she stood with her arms crossed over her chest as he began rifling through the desk drawers. "No one ever comes in here," He explained, careful not to disturb the delicate dust too terribly, "but you never know: there could be something useful in here."

"What we need, Vaughn," She pointed out, quickly losing her patience with his overzealous search for armament, "is a plan. You're the Boy Scout; let's get cracking." Their intense gazes locked, sparking a white-hot fire fueled by adrenaline. She flew over to the desk and began drawing a rough floor plan of the warehouse in the dust. "We need a way out that keeps us physically safe and doesn't expose you. We need—"

"What we need is a distraction." Their eyes locked again, and an idea clicked in her head.

"Give me your gun," She demanded, straightening up and reaching out her hand.

He narrowed his eyes at her like she had suddenly blurred around the edges. "What?"

"Give me your gun."

"No! I mean, why?"

"Just give it to me!"

"Not until you tell me what you're planning, Syd."

"Look, here's my idea: you give me the God damn gun, I'll pretend to hold you hostage, and we'll get out of here in time to catch a late movie."

"Are you crazy?"

"What! Like you've got anything better!"

"They'd sacrifice a _recruit_ in a heartbeat, and they would rather come to Sark with a dead prostitute-wannabe-assassin than an alive one. You are _not_ doing anything like that. Scrap the plan, and let's go back to the drawing board."

As the idea of getting about one hundred bullets through her stomach did not particularly appeal to her, she set aside her hurt pride and complied with his command.

"What if you just ran?" He suggested suddenly, boring a hole into the desktop. "You can slip out the door at the far end of the warehouse and run to—"

"Where, Vaughn? Another prostitute- and gang-ridden corner?" She asked sardonically. He pursed his lips but let her continue. "How _macho_ would it look if you were bested by a _prostitute_? They'd be suspicious, to say the least..."

"Gotcha. Scrap it."

Half-baked plans and escape routes caromed through her mind as they both continued to stare at the dust sketch. Just when she thought she had a semblance of a plan that might work, a loud bang of metal on metal sounded from outside, followed by a muffled shout of surprised which was silenced by a muted gunshot. Both agents looked up in alarm.

Someone else was there.

Blood pounded through Sydney's ears, making hearing anything else difficult. She did hear, though, hushed English through the wall with the window. Glancing at Vaughn for confirmation, he nodded once and mouthed, "Rival gang. Get out. NOW."

Thinking fast, Sydney grabbed a letter opener from the desk, tore open a cushion as quietly as possible, and handed it to Vaughn. He raised himself onto the desk and fit the overhead light through the tear, effectively darkening the room. She helped her fellow agent down, and making sure the hinges would not squeak, they fled through the only door.

The first things she saw were about twenty flashlight rays searching the ceiling and the ground to their far left. The first things she heard were the whispered orders of a definitely black king pin. The first thing she did was run.

She followed Vaughn along the well-memorized route to the docking bay. They made no sound. The only clue that he was in front of her was his darker outline against the already deep shadows. The lights moved closer. The talking grew louder. But she saw the thin vertical line of flickering illumination signaling the portal to the outside. Wanting to maintain the upper hand, she paused momentarily to retrieve the ninja stars from her shoe. But Vaughn had not paused, and when she continued her sprint, she ran headlong into a pile of metal poles. Before the first one had even clattered twice, she righted her course towards the door followed by beams of light and bullets. At the door, she found a frantic Vaughn, and together they burst out into the chilly night air while Vaughn shouted the only word necessary.

"DISCIPLES!"

Everyone spurred into action as a barrage of African-Americans dressed in black and white streamed from the doorway wielding firearms.

Sydney was the first to strike, hurling a star at the first man through the door. She hit his throat, and he staggered backwards into another member, clutching his ripped neck, creating a domino effect that took out about three people in all. Vaughn immediately fired randomly into the crowd of black and white closest to the separation with blue and black. He must have hit someone pretty important, because the Disciples roared and began attacking more fiercely than before. Hand to hand combat reined over gun play: no matter what the stereotype, they still had enough honor and sportsmanship to fight fair.

She dealt someone a swift roundhouse kick to the jaw, effectively downing him, and spun around only to face Vaughn. Without collaboration, they grabbed the other's arm and began running, rabidly hacking at anyone who got in their way. Unfortunately, more than one Disciple spied their escape and gave chase.

Sprinting along the back of the warehouse, shots rang both ways, all missing their marks and burrowing into brick. Vaughn lagged slightly behind, spinning around and running backwards to fire at the seven men who followed. They passed in and out of docking bay lights, but the last few at the end of the causeway were burned out. The rear of the neighboring building was void of light, but laden with dumpsters, crates, and other refuse.

This sparked an idea.

Just before they reached the other building, she yanked Vaughn into the alleyway between the two, hoping to lose at least three of them in the sudden direction change. Vaughn holstered his weapon and instead began knocking over trash cans in their wake. When bullets continued to track their progress, Syd risked a glance backward only to see the merged silhouettes of at least five men hurtling after them. Grunting in frustration, she spun around and grabbed Vaughn, hoping her second idea was better than the first. But before they rounded the corner, an unusually accurate bullet careened by her, deeply scratching her left bicep.

Compartmentalizing the pain and disallowing Vaughn knowledge of her wound, she pulled him around the corner of the building towards the nearest dumpster. Together (and ignoring her injury) they pushed it towards the opening to block it. Mission accomplished, they turned in unison to continue running down the street — they knew a dumpster _two_ people could easily move stood no chance against _five_ — but headlights blazed as a black Sedan screeched to a stop half on the curb.

Through the open window, Syd could see a black woman leaning towards them over the passenger seat. Her wide eyes radiated urgency as she yelled, "I'm CIA Agent Cassidy Malone, and if you don't get in the car now, I'll shoot you myself." Not wasting another second, Vaughn clambered into the front while Syd slid into the back. Before their doors were even closed, they sped off. Just in time, too; Syd heard the dumpster tip, and she ducked as the Disciples continued firing at them as the car turned a corner.

Silence, sprinkled with filler sounds such as haggard breathing and squealing tires.

Correctly interpreting their desperate glares, Cassidy hung another left and explained, "I'm Agent Malone, officer number 479326, if you don't believe me. Agent Jack Bristow — who I'm assuming is _your_ father—" her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror and Sydney in the back seat "—sent me as backup. Lucky for you, I got there when I did." Her gaze lingered on Syd. "You're hurt," She remarked matter-of-factly. Vaughn spun around in his seat to check, and she shrugged clutching her bleeding bicep. He glared at her rebukingly and reached out to her, but Cassidy slammed him back to face the front with a punch to his shoulder. "You can tend to her at the Egg." When this received two blank looks she expanded, "The Exigency: the CIA office in Chicago. Your equivalent is probably your Operations Centre. Man, you Californians have no imagination."

The vehicle flew down a ramp into a parking garage and sped to a blank stretch of wall near the back. She slowed next to a metal box, rolled down her window, and inserted a card. The concrete wall parted and revealed another part of the parking annex, where she quickly parked and exited her vehicle.

As Vaughn carefully helped her out as well — much to her displeasure — Sydney could not help but feel a heavy sense of familiarity flood her gut. The card key; the hidden parking; the room with the red flash of light...

She gripped her boyfriend's arm tight and tugged him close. "Vaughn," She whispered urgently as the red returned to white, and the wall opened again. "I've been here before; six years ago when I was first officially an agent."

The hallway opened up and it all clicked.

"We're at SD-2."

_**TBC . . .**_

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**_

[ducks flying objects]

**Chapter Nineteen:** The Exigency  
**Chapter Twenty:** Of Cowboys, Sharks, and Turkey

Hope you enjoyed one of the darker chapters of this story so far. Remember, constructive criticism is always appreciated, as is feedback of any kind.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	19. The Exigency

**Moving on...**

**Addition to Disclaimer:** There's a reference to the _Alias_ books in the beginning here. Yeah, I don't own them either.

**Chapter Genre:** Same angsty funness

**This Chapter:** I don't want to say much, so let's go with...surprises. Look up 'exigency' in the dictionary for a clue.

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns 'N Roses, "Cold" by Crossfade, "Simple Man" by Shinedown, and "Alive" by Howie Day.

**Author's Note:** Hope you still like me at the end of this chapter...

**

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**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Nineteen: The Exigency**

"SD-2?" Cassidy repeated, turning around to face the visiting agents. "That's right! You were here a few years ago with SD-6. Visiting Stephanie, right?"

Sydney balked. Without collaboration, both she and Vaughn pulled their weapons — Vaughn his gun and Syd her second ninja star — and pointed them at the foreign agent.

Cassidy laughed and leaned against the wall, cracking her knuckles. "Put those things away; this isn't SD-2 anymore!" When this garnered no response she expanded, "During the takedown of SD-2, they were simultaneously conducting a raid on our CIA facility. While our building was utterly destroyed, theirs was only gutted, so — being the creative and recycling people we are — we took this place over and turned it into the Exigency — or the Egg for short." She paused and grinned at them in bemusement. "Are you gonna put those down, or am I gonna have to kick some ass?"

Syd lowered her star first and Vaughn followed, holstering his weapon. "How did you know about Stephanie?" She asked curiously as Vaughn looked on without a clue.

The foreign agent merely grinned wryly. "You may have been the best double agent, but you certainly weren't the only." With that, she pushed off the wall and gestured towards the opposite end of the hallway. "Come on. Everyone must know you're here by now; half the office is probably staked out at my desk waiting for you. Lord almighty, you have to stop making entrances! Although I guess I didn't help much — I have a bit of a flair for the dramatic myself..." She continued to babble as she led them down the marble corridor. The setting was still too eerily familiar to allow Sydney due relaxation, but she replaced the ninja star in her stiletto all the same. Vaughn, also wary of the situation, shadowed her down the hall, the rubber soles of his sneakers squeaking on the floor. Walking down that hallway, she was back in L.A., back in SD-6, back in the period of her life that she hated more than anything. The feeling made her want to throw up. _'Why, WHY couldn't they have changed this hallway?'_

Cassidy opened the double glass doors at the end of the causeway by providing a breath sample. "Good thing I didn't have tuna for a midnight snack," She remarked to herself, holding the door for the visiting agents.

As the ceiling opened up and the walls fell away, Sydney heaved a sigh of relief.

It was _finally_ different.

Twin corridors ran off to both her left and right, curving toward each other out of sight. The inner wall comprised entirely of glass, allowing an unobstructed view into the Egg's Atrium. Agents and analysts bustled back and forth before them, unaware or indifferent to their very existence.

"Welcome," Cassidy began, leading them with arms outstretched into the Atrium, "to the Egg — which is indeed shaped like an egg. You know, in case you were wondering." The ceiling shot up at least five stories, the glass of its wall seeming to generate its own light. Agents strolled around on every level despite the late hour, oblivious to the chaos in the Atrium. Messengers and interns ran papers — memos, dossiers, documents — from person to person. Desks peppered the marble floor in spoke-like patterns, fanning out from the centre hub. A pillar of television sets stood as the focus of attention, and occasionally agents paused to glance up at them. They ranged from security camera feeds from cells below to C-SPAN to the local news to ESPN. Sydney noticed a particularly large group of males clustered around an Asian baseball game.

Agent Malone led them straight across the room and around the TV station (Syd had to drag Vaughn away from the one playing ESPN) and to her desk. Another desk faced hers, and at it stood a tall, red-haired, bearded man, not much younger than Sydney. He stood taller and crossed his arms over his chest as they approached. "Hey!" He called out, a bit louder than was necessary. "Malone's got Bristow and Vaughn! Check this out!"

Everyone within earshot ceased moving, and in one swift movement, turned towards the four of them.

Sydney remembered she was dressed in stilettos, a short leather skirt, and an apron top. She suddenly became very self-conscious for the second time that night. Offering a small, nervous wave, she crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to seem more professional, completely forgetting her bleeding arm painted her as a war hero. Vaughn remembered, though, and despite the prying eyes, he shed his coat and tore off a sleeve of his shirt, beginning to tourniquet her wound in the middle of the Egg.

Cassidy stepped in front of them, her tall frame giving them modest privacy. "All right, all right. Move along," She commanded, arms in the air. "There's nothin' to see here. Sheesh. It's like you people haven't seen celebrities here before! I mean, we did have Piece Brosnan here once when he was doing research. God, is that man hot!" She turned back to Syd and Vaughn, leaning against the bearded man. "This, friends, is my partner Jason Sterne. Well, actually, he's just my temporary partner: my official partner's on assignment."

"Nice to meet you," Sterne greeted, shaking hands with each of them. "Sorry 'bout that; it's just that those of us on the graveyard shift don't usually get much excitement. And two of the best and most famous agents the CIA has ever produced are _a lot_ of excitement. Besides, Brosnan came in during _the day_." He looked pointedly at Cassidy. _"For five minutes."_

She shrugged. "No wonder those movies are so inaccurate."

Vaughn and Sydney just stared at one another. _'No wonder _we_ were assigned this mission; these people are crazy,'_ She thought as her boyfriend draped his coat over her bare shoulders, ever careful of her injury. "Question," She said, butting into their argument and garnering their attention, "why are we here? And when do we get to leave?"

"Aw! Hold on a minute, there," Sterne groaned melodramatically. "We're not _that_ bad, are we? I mean, yeah, we're slightly mental, but whoever said that was a _bad_ thing—"

"We're actually waiting for someone," Cassidy interrupted, throwing her partner a dirty look. "And I don't think we're the people who should tell you about what's going on." The brush-off did not sit well with Sydney, and she offered her fellow female agent a doubtful look. She must have understood because she suggested, "Hey, why don't you two boys get us some coffee? Sterne, you can show Agent Vaughn where everything is. Right?" He nodded, and the two male agents scurried away. "That should take them a while," Cassidy murmured, offering Sydney her desk chair, which she gladly took. "Sterne doesn't know where the break room is. Now, what do you want to know?"

"What can you tell me?" She replied, wincing as she adjusted Vaughn's coat.

Cassidy perched on the corner of her desk and screwed up her face in thought. "Well, I've been working on this case — the _Negro/Azuls _— for, oh, I'd say about four years."

"Why did we get called in now? Why not earlier?"

"Oh, a little thing called SD-6. And SD-2 for me." Anticipating her next question Cassidy continued, "I was first assigned the case at SD-2, and when they were disbanded, the CIA let me keep with it. They were interested in it for the same reason SD-2 was."

Syd stared at her for a moment. "And that would be..."

"Oh!" She started. "I thought you know! See, Sark wasn't the instigator of this project; he only inherited it, if you will. It was passed down to him from Irina Derevko."

For some reason, this news did not shock her like it should have. Perhaps she had suspected it all along. Perhaps she had come to expect surprises like this. Perhaps it was late, and it would hit her full force in the morning. Perhaps she just did not care; what was one more atrocity on her mother's wrap sheet? They all started to blend together after a while.

Cassidy scrutinized her carefully. "Do you want me to stop? I'm sure I could get you a copy of the full report; it's probably easier to read it than to hear it."

"One thing you learn in this business," Syd murmured, staring intently at the ground, "nothing makes it easier." She gazed at the older agent meaningfully, willing the tears to retreat into their ducts again. "Go on. I need to know this, and I might as well hear it now."

"Okay. Well..." Cassidy paused, and Sydney got the sensation that she was choosing her words carefully. "According to our intel, the _Negro/Azul_ project — deemed Project: _Initium_ by Derevko herself — is a branch of your father's Project: Christmas put into action. The actual gang recruitment, though, is thought to be one of the latter stages."

"You mean, there's conditioning previous to what they do in the gang?"

"Exactly. But that's all we know. We have no idea if they start as young as your father did, or what methods they use, or even if they still do it. What we're focusing on right now is taking down the _Negro/Azuls_." Cassidy assessed Syd's emotional damage and asked hesitantly, "Anything else you want to know?"

Syd thanked whoever was listening that her compartmentalizer was finally in good condition. "Why were we even called in? Sounds like you guys had a pretty good handle on the situation before we got here."

"I though that was obvious," She replied, struggling to suppress a beaming smile. "The L.A. office is notorious for dealing with Sark quickly and efficiently. You guys know him inside and out; way better than we do. Plus, it doesn't hurt to have some of the best and most decorated agents to ever walk through the doors of the CIA. And you didn't even go to Langley! Man, are you lucky: that place was complete and utter Hell, what with the boot camp and the pointless training missions they sent us on and the boot camp and the hazing and did I mention the boot camp—?"

"We come bearing gifts," Sterne announced as both he and Vaughn strode through a different entrance to the Egg's Atrium. He held up two cups of coffee and handed one to Cassidy, keeping the other for himself.

Vaughn balanced a plate of doughnuts on each coffee he carried, and passed one precarious tower off to his girlfriend before taking a seat that Cassidy had hastily provided. "Guess what?" He murmured to Syd incredulously. "They've got an actual break room! With actual fresh food! Not a converted office with stale bagels."

"I should hope so," Cassidy muttered as she took a sip out of her cup and swallowed gingerly, frowning at Sterne. "There's a Krispy Kreme about two blocks north; a Panera Bread one block west; Starbucks one block east, two south, three and a half north—"

"I think they get the point, Cass," Sterne interrupted, downing his cup in one swift gulp. "So," He transitioned, turning to Syd, "what were you girls talking about? Pierce Brosnan again? Or did you upgrade to Orlando Bloom?"

"Nah, he's too young for us," Cassidy joked, cuffing Syd lightly on her non-injured shoulder. "Brad Pitt's where it's at, gentlemen. That man could melt diamond with just his gaze."

Sydney could not help but think of how similar this conversation was to what she sometimes heard in the halls at school. The comparison of popular movie stars and rock musicians was a common topic in the morning and during passing periods. (Anne liked Orlando Bloom only in his Legolas role from _The Lord of the Rings_; she hated Brad Pitt. She said he had less personality than a brick wall, as at least the latter had cracks worthy of staring at.) It was immensely ironic. She did not comment, though; she just grinned and chowed down on her doughnut happily as Vaughn drew lazy circles on the small of her back. "So who are we waiting for?" She asked no one in particular.

"Harold Frechman," Her fellow female agent responded, a small grin tugging at the corner of her lips as well as Sterne's. "He's head of our Op Tech division. He'll probably be more than a little disappointed that Marshall's not with you; he practically has a shine dedicated to the man in his office. But don't tell anyone; he doesn't think anyone knows about it."

Both L.A. agents laughed heartily at that. "It's good to know Marshall might have a fan bigger than himself," Vaughn chimed in, throwing away his paper plate in the trash bin beside Agent Malone's desk. Something across the room suddenly distracted him then. "Let me guess," He began, pointing towards an extremely tall man with awkwardly skinny limbs carrying a file cabinet's worth of paper. "That's him?"

"Oh yeah," Cassidy confirmed, sliding down off of her desk and waving him over. Despite her taller-than-average frame, Harold Frechman towered over the female agent by at least a foot. Sydney briefly wondered how skilled he was at basketball. "Harold, meet Agents Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn from the—"

"Los Angeles office, I know," He finished for her, rearranging the papers in order to eagerly shake the visiting agents' hands as they stood to greet him. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I know you wouldn't remember, Agent Bristow—"

"Please. Call me Sydney."

"—Sydney—" He blushed slightly "—but I visited the L.A. office right after the takedown of the Alliance. I kinda helped supervise the clearance of former SD-6 employees."

She tried recalling his face but shook her head and replied honestly, "Sorry, but that entire time was one big blur."

"Understandable," He nodded and smiled broadly. He was nowhere near as giddy and overzealous as Marshall by any stretch of the imagination (even during his infrequent calm periods). On the contrary, he seemed very..._normal_. No stuttering, no tangents, no shifting; he was just slightly awkward, as if he had yet to fully grow into his lanky limbs. He did look quite young, Sydney noticed. Turning back to his fellow Chicago agents Harold suggested, "Shall we go? Hernandez is waiting in conference room 3B."

"Sounds good," Sterne answered, taking up Cassidy's practically untouched coffee cup and leading the way towards the nearest exit. "Would you like to drop those off at your office, Harold?"

"Please," He replied gratefully, readjusting the papers in his arms.

After a brief detour to Harold's surprisingly clean office (all gadgets and half-gadgets were neatly organized by usage), the three Chicago agents led Syd and Vaughn to a conference room on the other side of the Egg. Sydney's first reaction to the agents she passed in the hall was very surprising; they all seemed a shade more professional than those back in Los Angeles. No jeans or tank tops; no radios or CD players; no flashing pens or giant pencils. She supposed it had something to do with the amount of sunlight each city received; she had heard that people who saw less sunlight were more prone to be serious. One thing did strike her as particularly odd, though; the entire office — every man and woman from management on down — had some type of Chicago sports memorabilia somewhere on their desk. She also noticed that those with Cubs pennants did not associate with those who drank out of Sox mugs.

They entered the conference room and Sydney was again transported back to the world of SD-6/2 and double agents, spying and lying. The automatic window/doors turned closed behind them as they seated themselves at a long, black conference table. The monitors in front of them featured the same screen saver but with different sports logos. A tall black desk chair stood facing the wall at the table's pinnacle, and just when Syd was about to speak freely with Vaughn, it spun around slowly to reveal a short, balding Hispanic man that strangely reminded her of Mr. Arroyo. "Welcome to the Exigency, Agents Bristow and Vaughn," He stated in a clear, booming tone with his fingers tented and elbows propped on the arm rests. "I hope you have found your accommodations..._adequate_." His stony façade broke into a wide smile as he laughed heartily. "Sorry," He sputtered in between guffaws. "I've always wanted to do that."

"Herny, you're a riot," Sterne deadpanned, drumming his fingers on the shiny tabletop. "Way to enforce the James Bond theme we've got going today."

"He was a stand-up comedian before joining the CIA," Cassidy whispered across the table to Sydney. "His stage name was Hernia Herny."

"Yeah, because he can be a royal pain in the ass—"

"—And give you a hernia," 'Herny' finished for Sterne. He rose to shake hands with the visiting agents. "Hello, I'm Deputy Director Aramis Hernandez. No need to introduce yourselves; everyone here already knows who you are." He winked at Syd, and she smiled brightly. It was ironic that such a professional office would choose _him_ as their director. She liked him, though; he was a refreshing change from Kendall. Remaining on his feet, he extracted a remote from a hip pocket and clicked it once, banishing the screen saver and bringing up a map, much like the one Vaughn had shown her of SD-6 those years ago. What she recognized as the outer branches were mostly x-ed out in red, and then red mixed with green as they crept towards the centre marked 'Sark'.

Despite Syd and Vaughn's twin looks of mild confusion, Hernandez did not start with the map. "Those Disciples — more commonly known as the Black Disciples — were tipped off by a contact of Sterne's so that we could get you out of there with a fight."

'_That wasn't a fight? Then what the hell _was_ that? A tea party?'_

"They deal mostly with heroin, and have been looking to, uh, expand their markets. They're one of ten factions of the Vice Lords, headed by King Troy, as he's known in the underworld—"

"Excuse me," Syd interrupted, the late hour and pain from her wound grating on her nerves, "but what does this have to do with us?"

Smiling with his eyes Hernandez answered, "I'm getting to that." She bit her tongue, and Vaughn's hand found hers under the table. "I mention this," He continued with a meaningful glance at Sydney, "because they're CIA. Well, Troy is, anyway. In an immunity agreement, he promised to keep us informed on the _Negro/Azuls_ and their dealings as long as he got to keep his own ring mostly in tact. Since it's the FBI's territory, though, they stepped in and made sure he turned in his U.S. contacts, leaving us to deal with the international ones. So in other words, as long as they keep their business off U.S. soil, we can't touch them, but we still have to protect them. Goddamn FBI bastards."

Syd smiled again, thinking of Kendall.

"Then why were they firing at us?" Vaughn questioned curiously.

Cassidy shifted in her seat and answered, "The lower levels have no idea they're connected to the CIA. They didn't know who you were. Not that Troy would have protected you, anyway..." She glanced up and caught sight of a glaring Hernandez. Blushing she apologized, "Sorry, Herny. Continue, please."

"Because of the Disciple's raid," Hernandez went on, "Troy and his tight-knit circle were able to secure the shipment and turn it over to the proper authorities without Sark thinking we were involved at all. As far as he knows, the Disciples walked in on a trade about to happen, took out the gang, and grabbed the goods."

"Was anyone killed?" Sydney asked, struggling to suppress the anxiousness in her voice.

Hernandez shrugged. "The preliminary reports say only injuries, but they're preliminary for a reason. Right now all we care about is that neither of _you_ were killed." Sydney winced as a particularly painful spasm overtook her arm, and Vaughn smoothed his thumb over the ridges of her knuckles. "Anyways, this map—" he gestured to the monitors in front of them "—shows how much we've accomplished so far and how much we have to go. Chicago's efforts are in red, and L.A.'s are in green." He turned to Vaughn for the first time since they shook hands and gazed at him earnestly. "You've been a huge boost to this operation. Your intel has panned out almost every time, and even though the progress is slow, it's exponentially faster than before you were here. You're really making some major headway. You all are." He now addressed Sydney as well. "You've stopped them from acquiring major scores, and for that we all thank you." He paused, but before he dismissed them, he focused on Syd again and remarked, "By the way, tell your dad I say hi. And that he still owes me another game of racquetball."

Syd nodded while thinking, _'Good Lord, my father knows everyone, doesn't he?'_

The Deputy Director nodded once, smiled, and then waved them away. "Get out of here! Go home!"

All five of them rose and left through those automatic rotating doors. The pain in Syd's arm had steadily grown worse all throughout the debrief, and as they walked towards the Atrium again, it throbbed so mightily that she could no longer ignore it. She lagged behind the group, clutching her arm and breathing heavily. She had bled through Vaughn's makeshift tourniquet, making her think the wound was more serious than previously thought. Vaughn, noticing her absence, doubled back and caught her before she stumbled against the glass wall, covering the now-red cloth. "Syd?" He whispered anxiously, cradling her in his arms in such a way that she felt like slapping him across the face for being so protective. But that was the stubborn portion of her brain, the part that refused to succumb to the pain and refused to admit she needed help. "What the hell is wrong? Is it your arm?" He peeled away her hand and hissed at what he saw.

He turned to Cassidy. She had paused at one of the entrances to the Atrium with both Sterne and Harold looking on longingly at the TV station. "Medical Services is on the second floor right as you get out of the elevator..." She trailed off, catching on to the look in Vaughn's eyes, a look that Sydney loved to see. It made her feel...special. Wanted. Loved. Protected. And everyone else saw the meaning behind it as well. After a short pause, a grin tugged at Agent Malone's lips, and she pointed down the hallway. "You can go into room 26. There should be a first aid kit sitting on top of the desk. I'll come get you in about half an hour."

He nodded his thanks as he helped his girlfriend down the corridor. The room was an office, much like Syd remembered her father's to be when they both worked at SD-6. He guided her to the leather chair behind the desk and immediately went to work on her arm. Snapping on a pair of rubber gloves, he untied the now-useless tourniquet and tossed it in the trashcan. This was the first time he got a real chance to take in her injury, and his sharp intake of breath told her all she needed to know: it was indeed as bad as she thought. "Syd, why didn't you tell me sooner?" He rebuked softly, pouring a liberal dose of antiseptic onto a cotton swab and padding it around the wound. She only hissed in response. He sized up a strip of gauze and fit it over the still bleeding gash. "I could have done something about it. Damn it! I knew I shouldn't have let you go through with this—"

"Vaughn..." She murmured in warning, the stubborn part of her brain taking over for a time as he gave her four aspirin to swallow. "While your concern is endearing, it isn't needed. I'm a big girl; I really can take care of myself."

"I know," He replied, edged slightly in a whine. Glancing into her eyes he added, "But I like to fuss over you."

"So do I," She conceded, unable to suppress a blush coupled with a grin.

An impish smile tugged at the corners of his own lips. "So in other words, you got nothin'."

"Pretty much." They shared a knowing smile as he removed the gauze pad, still bloody. Frowning slightly, he reached for the brown bottle of hydrogen peroxide, and she scooted the desk chair away indiscreetly. "Don't you dare come at me with that, Vaughn—"

"Syd, calm down!" He chuckled, shaking the bottle. "It's just hydrogen—"

"I know damn well what it is!" She cried, backing up even farther as he advanced towards her. "That stuff hurts like hell!"

"I thought you were a big girl."

"I am!" She pouted. "Just...there are bad memories involving a large hill, a bike, and a tiny rock."

"Ouch."

"Yeah. My mom became so overprotective after that. Practically every time I left the house from then on, she'd strap me with so many pads a football player'd be jealous." Syd felt like slapping herself for mentioning her mother. She saw the gate drop over his eyes, but just as quickly recede back under his eyelids, and he continued towards her. As retribution, she scooted closer and allowed him to clean the deep wound again with the burning liquid. She bit her lip as he blew on the wound and the solution bubbled ominously, but his fingers soothed her, drawing designs on the inside of her arm to juxtaposition the harsh liquid.

The fire slowly subsided, and he fitted yet another gauze pad over the gash. "So _this_ is what it's like to be you."

She looked up in confusion, not really sure he had really spoken. "What do you mean?"

His hands stilled but his fingers continued to stroke her lightly. "To hear them say you made a difference — to hear them say you made major headway, that you got one step closer to your goal — and not believe a word of it."

Syd smiled ruefully and nodded. "Yeah..." She conceded. "Sounds about right."

"I'm sorry I ever put you through that. I mean, now that I know what it feels like. You knew what you were doing, and you didn't need my assurance to know when you did something right."

"True," She nodded, watching him as he taped the gauze in place. "But it was nice to hear your voice — to know that _you_ knew what I did and saw that I was making a difference. It made all the little things — like the ampoule, like the manuscripts, like the gyroscope — seem like...taking out a leader. I never told you this—" there was the blush again "—but I'd thank you for that every night."

His hands fell into his lap as he perched on the edge of the desk and gazed at her. "Well then thanks, Syd. Thanks for telling me I did a good job."

She raised her eyebrows and corrected matter-of-factly, "_I_ never said any of those things. Go thank Herny if you feel so inclined—"

"Yeah, but you were _thinking_ it, weren't you?"

"Yes...of course..." She trailed off, shifting her eyes back and forth with an evil smile. He made a face, and she stuck out her tongue, but quickly rescinded it when he threatened her with the hydrogen peroxide bottle. Making ample use of her impeccable reflexes, she grabbed a handful of rubber bands from the desk, instigating a chase about the room.

They stopped only when Cassidy interrupted them. She opened the door abruptly, practically knocking Vaughn to the floor. She laughed quietly and announced she would drive them home; someone would bring Vaughn's car over later. On the way to Cassidy's desk, Sydney saw an agent working in the personnel section of the server. Curiosity flowered in her stomach, and she stopped to look over his shoulder. "Hey, could you do me a favor?" She asked sweetly, taking him by surprise. "Could you look up the alias Anne Lawson? I want to know if there's anyone using that name at Glenfield Community High School."

The agent typed away, but at the end of his search, he glanced back at her regretfully. "Sorry. No one by that alias goes to GCHS. But there is another agent there." Sydney stood up straighter, encouraging him with her eyes. "He goes by the alias—" He typed and clicked more before settling back in his chair "—Charles Tressaut. His real name is—"

"Mark Malone," Cassidy answered for him, shrugging on her coat and shouldering her purse. "Yeah. He's my asset. And my husband."

_**TBC . . .**_

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[ducks more flying objects]

**Chapter Twenty:** Of Cowboys, Sharks, and Turkey  
**Chapter Twenty-One:** Not-So-Secret Santas

I actually did my homework for this one: the Black Disciples, Vice Lords, and King Troy really do exist. Just not in the context I've set them in. Sorry that you've all had to suffer through an unwanted visit from the Exposition Fairy, but it had to be done.

The next chapter will be practically all fluff. If you can't tell, we're finally up to Thanksgiving, so we're going to tie up a few loose ends. [grins broadly]

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed yet _another_ dark chapter. Feedback is appreciated!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	20. Of Cowboys, Sharks, and Turkeys

**Why do I even bother?**

**Chapter Genre:** An incredible amount of fluff with a plot bunny at the end.

**This Chapter:** Everyone goes to Weiss's for Thanksgiving dinner; Anne makes a return; and it's Vaughn's birthday...I'll let you figure it out.

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Aunt Marge's Waltz" off the _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ soundtrack; "Absence of Fear" and "Down So Long" by Jewel

**Author's Note:** I haven't written pure fluff in so long that I almost forgot how. I allowed myself a single plot bunny, as they were starting to overflow my room, and I couldn't hide them any longer. Oh, and yay! Another milestone! Twenty chapters: wow. Crazy. Enjoy!

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**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Twenty: Of Cowboys, Sharks, and Turkeys**

Jack already knew the background information on Project: _Initium_ — he was the operation's director; how could he not? — but the news about the other deep-cover agent...The briefing did not contain _that_. When Sydney told him over the phone, his end became eerily silent before a sharp click ended their conversation. Moments later, right after she realized he had not hung up but instead put her on hold, she connected again with her father and a noticeably nervous Deputy Director Hernandez. She merely listened while Jack raked poor Herny over the coals for keeping information not only from him, but "from the entire American Intelligence community, of which you are a faulty part. Your insolence in this matter is preposterous! It's arrogant! And if such an indiscretion comes to my attention again — especially one which could jeopardize _my daughter_ — I will not hesitate to take you out by any means possible." He continued to not only insult Hernandez's credentials, but also his "incredible ineptitude" in racquetball.

In short, Angry Frog with Bulging Eyes Jack made a spectacular reappearance.

Sydney was grateful that the days leading up to Thanksgiving had temperatures hovering around normal, thereby requiring long sleeves; she had an excuse to hide the gauze pad still residing on her arm. After that day at the Egg, she refused to let Vaughn dress her wound, even going so far as to hide the bandages and tape in the one place she knew he would never look: under the sink with her feminine hygiene products. Unfortunately, he found them the very next day when searching for his razor. She did have to endure more treatments and topical creams, but on the bright side, it healed faster than any other wound ever. _'The cool weather can let up now,'_ She thought, directing her attention through the bare tree branches to the overcast sky. _'Really, it can. I don't need to hide anymore. You can hold up on the snow and below freezing temperatures.'_

Someone must have been listening, because the day of Thanksgiving dawned mild (almost fifty degrees) but with a sky laden with the promise of rain. She rolled out of bed and made a beeline for the couch, curling up with a fleece blanket and the DVD remote. The night before, she lined up every single movie Francie ever recommended but she never saw, planning on having a Thanksgiving Day marathon and avoiding every mention of turkey or parades. But halfway through "A Knight's Tale," a bullhorn like those brought to hockey games sounded on the other side of her front door, causing her to nearly jump through the roof. Jumping over the ledge and unlocking the door, she pulled it open to reveal a smiling Weiss wielding a red Blackhawks bullhorn. He pressed the button once again, and she slammed her hands over her ears to keep them from bleeding.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" He said pleasantly, finally pocketing the noisemaker.

"Wouldn't that have given you just as much satisfaction over the phone?" She asked sardonically, ears still ringing faintly.

Weiss pondered a moment before shaking his head. "Nah. The facial reaction makes the entire thing worth it."

"Why are you here, Eric?"

"You going to let me in or what?" He plugged on, ignoring her question. "If you haven't noticed, it's not exactly L.A.-in-November weather out here."

"_Why are you here, Eric?"_

He sighed heavily. "Okay, let's see here...'Happy Thanksgiving!'...Horn...Cold...Oh yeah! You are cordially invited to Thanksgiving whatever-meal-it-ends-up-being at the Stone household. Michael Tibot will be there...Yeah. We basically need you to cook. We're kinda helpless in that department."

"Among others," She muttered under her breath. Raising her voice she asked, "So what exactly are you saying?"

"Get your ass dressed and in my car so you can cook us some Goddamn food, woman!"

"Want to try that again before I kick your ass?"

"Please?"

"Alright," She acquiesced, tucking her hair behind her ears. "Is my father going to be there? And Dixon and Marshall?"

"Yep-skippity-doodles."

She stared at him for a moment before shaking her head in amazement. "I need to take a shower. I'll be ready in about forty minutes." She began shuffling down the hall when the bullhorn sounded again, sending her stumbling into the wall. "God, Eric! I'm going to break that thing over your head!"

"Want to let me in?"

"That's all? The door's open!"

"At least I didn't pick your locks this time."

"For that I'll be eternally grateful, Weiss."

"What are you watching? Oh, 'A Knight's Tale!' 'It's called a lance. Hel-lo!'"

"Dear Lord, shut up!"

True to her word, Sydney stood impatiently at the door forty minutes later, waiting for "the fat guy to sing the one song...Not that one! The other one!" Finally, after she threatened to hotwire his car and send it into a tree, he clicked off the TV and led her out to his vehicle. When she opened the door, balloons of various shapes and sizes zoomed into her face, and she struggled to shove them in the backseat of the car, which already featured brown paper grocery bags and boxes. She swept aside a crusty McDonald's bag before carefully seating herself. "Are you trying to hide a body in here or something?"

"I don't even have to try," He answered, pulling out of her driveway. "Mike, wave."

She saw a hand appear through the chaos, and it gave a limited wave. "Present," Her boyfriend called, greatly muffled by the packages surrounding him. That appendage sought out her shoulder and squeezed it gently. "Happy Thanksgiving, Syd."

"Yeah, you too," She replied, staring at Weiss incredulously. "Oh, and happy birthday! Your present's kind of...not here. And not appropriate for Weiss or small children."

"Oh, I got you covered," Weiss interjected, eyes still glued to the road. "Mikey, plug your delicate ears; the adults need to talk now."

"What?" Their fellow agent called.

Weiss sniggered as Sydney continued to stare. "What the hell did you do to him?" She whispered harshly, turning up the radio in the back of the car to drown out her voice.

He shrugged defensively. "Hey, it was his idea! He's the one who wanted to go food shopping at the crack of dawn, _buy too much_, and have nowhere to put everything. So he's the one who gets the punishment."

"Huh?" Vaughn yelled from the back.

"Nothing!" Weiss answered over his shoulder. "Look," He began, slowing down as he approached his driveway. "Whatever you do, keep him away from the basement; I've got a little surprise party set up down there, and I don't want him to ruin it."

"Why didn't you let me in on the planning?" She demanded indignantly. "I just happen to be his girlfriend!"

"_Because,"_ He answered testily, circling the block so they could continue their conversation, "you're his girlfriend! I don't have the pleasure to limit my gift to endless great sex like you can; the duties of a best friend only go so far."

"So what are the balloons for?" She questioned, feeling a number of them rebound against the back of her skull.

"Anne told me to," He answered, finally pulling into his driveway. "You know, like how they do in school when its somebody's birthday? Oh, and if she asks, he wore a kilt, sombrero, and a Rugby shirt." She looked at him with her eyebrows raised, and he merely shook his head. "Just go with it." Turning around in his seat, he patted the lump of packages behind him and yelled, "We're here, Vaughn. Syd and I are going to start unloading, and when you think it's safe to move, please get out of my car. Oh, and no inappropriate grabbing, _por favor_. From either of you," He added, seeing Vaughn's disembodied hand slide down his girlfriend's shoulder. The appendage snapped an _aw-shucks_ and retreated into the chaos.

Between Sydney and Eric, they unearthed Vaughn within a few minutes and moved everything through the garage, laundry room, the corner family room, and finally the kitchen. Vaughn refused to carry anything on account of it being his birthday ("Plus, these balloons really get in the way"), but when Sydney threatened to withhold his birthday gift, he gladly took up her load. They eventually unpacked everything and sorted it according to food group; Syd was pleasantly surprised to see actual food and not just five hundred bags of Tootsie Pops.

She got the two of them to work right off the bat, assigning Weiss the stuffing while Vaughn took control of the salad. Fortunately, Eric put the turkey in the oven before the men left on their shopping excursion. Unfortunately, he forgot to remove the entrails, forcing Sydney to dive into the bird with heat-resistant gloves to extract the unwanted organs. After chasing her boyfriend around the kitchen brandishing the gizzard, she dropped them in the garbage and turned on the radio before starting on both the gravy and the sweet potatoes. Just as the first strains of "Highway to Hell" boomed from the CD player, the phone in the family room rang.

"Syd, you want to get that?" Eric suggested distractedly, fervently concentrating on the recipe Syd set out for him. "It's probably Marshall wanting directions."

She rounded the table and leapt over the low ledge between the two conjoined rooms, answering the phone slightly rushed. "Stone residence. Jane speaking. How may I direct your call?"

"Jane?" A familiar voice screeched. "What the hell are you doing over there?"

"Anne!" Sydney responded, slightly louder than necessary. She straightened up and glared at her fellow cooking agents pointedly. "What a surprise! I'm, uh, actually helping Greg cook Thanksgiving dinner."

"Why the hell would someone trust him with dinner?" Her friend asked incredulously.

"Oh, it's his punishment."

"For what?"

"Um, good question," Syd replied, jogging lightly into the kitchen and stopping in front of Weiss. "What are you being punished for, Greg?"

Grumbling, he wiped his hands on a dishtowel and grabbed the phone from her. "My mom saw my Chem grade, alright? Are you happy now?" He paused for a moment. "Yeah, I'll hold."

Sydney's cell phone sang out its familiar tune, and she rushed to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hey Jane!" Anne cried happily, taking the female agent by surprise. "Let me get you on with Greg—"

"Wouldn't it be easier to just—" a click cut her off "—get another phone?" She finished lamely, another click giving her access to both Anne and Weiss, who waved to her as he chopped up a stalk of celery.

"Okay, hold just once more," Anne pleaded, clicking off before either of them could protest.

Sydney sighed heavily and returned to the gravy, moving the flour out of Vaughn's reach. He stuck out his tongue and threw a cherry tomato at her. Deftly catching it in her mouth, she smiled triumphantly as she sandwiched her cell phone between her shoulder and ear. Just as he was about to retaliate yet again (with the Italian dressing this time) his own cell phone rang. Before he could grab it, she extracted it from his pocket and pressed the talk button. "Yo, Michael's cell."

"Jane?"

"Anne!"

"Lord, Michael's there too? What the hell? Why wasn't I invited to the party?"

"Uh..." Sydney stalled ungracefully. But an excuse did not matter, as Anne immediately clicked Vaughn's cell phone in with the rest of the agents. "Anne, why are you — Aw, Michael! These are my good pants! Damn it!"

He had 'accidentally' spilled half a cup of Italian dressing on her leg while she was talking. He smiled innocently and mouthed, _'I win.'_

"Shut up," Syd said, tossing his phone to him and shaking the excess fluid off her leg. "You owe me big time, Michael Tibot."

"Stone, do I want to know?" Anne tentatively asked over the phone. "Can you even talk? Or are you scarred for life?"

"It's all good," Syd answered for him, throwing a triumphant smile his way for her use of slang. "Michael just spilled something on my dress pants. He thinks he's being cute."

"Believe nuting she say," He drawled, moving close enough to Sydney to be heard over both phones clearly. He winked slyly as he slid a hand down her back to rest above the swell of her backside. "She deserve it."

Sydney slapped away his hand and moved her sweet potatoes next to Weiss on the other side of the island. _"Canard."_

"You just called him a duck, Jane."

"He knows what I mean."

Weiss sniggered as he sliced mushrooms. "So why _did_ you call, Anne?" He asked, almost bemused. "To get us into even more trouble? Or just to make Jane answer every phone?"

"Ooh, I like those better. Can I go with those?" They could all hear the smile in her voice, and the three agents grinned across the room at each other. "Actually," She continued, "I was gonna call each of you separately, so I guess this is more efficient. But it still hurts that I wasn't invited."

Sydney deflected the implied question by saying, "At least you're dry and comfortable and don't smell like an Olive Garden."

"Point taken," Anne laughed. "Well, I just wanted to wish everyone a happy Turkey Day. I hope none of your parents are forcing you to wear a dress, 'cause I know mine are. At least I talked 'em down to a skirt."

"It'd be kinda weird if my mom told me to wear a dress," Weiss commented, detached. "Although it'd fit with the whole punishment vibe. In that case, let's hope Mom isn't listening in on another phone." He gave both Sydney and Vaughn an overly exaggerated wink, and they both rolled their eyes.

"Missus Stone, I wanna sex up your son like a model wants Exlax." Anne paused. "Okay, sounds like we're clear. If not, you have one _strange_ mom."

The agents could hardly contain their gales of laughter.

"By the way, happy birthday, Michael," Anne continued, talking around something that crunched. "Did Greg dress you up and give you balloons like I told him to? Don't feel intimidated by that teddy bear; you can tell me the truth."

Vaughn glanced up at Weiss, raising an eyebrow and scrutinizing his friend. The other male agent brandished his knife menacingly while Sydney allowed a small giggle to escape. Keeping eye contact with his best friend, he answered clearly, "No. I have balloons, but no crazy costume. And _I_ woke _him_ up zis morning."

"He told us not to tell you," Sydney chimed in, sliding away and out of Eric's reach. Slipping her arm around her boyfriend's waist she added, "But don't worry; I'll do my best to dress 'im up later."

"Ow, ow!"

"What the hell, you two!" Eric exclaimed, completely dropping all pretense of cooking. "Lord! The entire world's out to get me now, isn't it? This isn't fair. This isn't fair at all."

"That's life, hon," Anne stated simply. Syd heard a noise in the background as Anne paused, and her friend returned to the conversation slightly rushed. "Sorry, guys, but I've gotta go to my aunt's now. If there are any pictures taken of me in this skirt, there _will_ be consequences." Syd could feel the grin spread across her face as she added, "Oh, and Greg, I'd start watching my back right about now if I was you. You have no idea how many connections I's got." Saying a quick good-bye to the other two, she quickly hung up.

"Well then. That was interesting," Sydney commented lightly, grabbing the phone away from a catatonic Weiss and replacing it in the charger. Zippering her own cell into her purse again, she turned back to the other agents and commanded, "Now get back to cooking! Who said phone calls were an excuse to slack off? Vaughn, finish the sweet potatoes and then find the cans of cranberry sauce. I've got gravy to tend and pies to bake." While keeping one eye on the gravy, she found the two pumpkin pies the men had bought at the store and put them near the oven. "There. All set."

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By the time the doorbell rang two hours later, Sydney had taken over most of the cooking duties; her faith in them and kitchen appliances could fit in a teaspoon. The only reason she kept them in the kitchen was to make sure everything tasted up to snuff. But when they ran to answer the doorbell and Marshall, Dixon, and Jack all issued in through the front door, she knew they were completely alienated from usefulness. She warmly greeted Marshall as he sat down at the table, and barely said a word to Dixon before Weiss and Vaughn rushed him off to the family room and the first football game of the day.

Jack strode in, looking like a board was nailed to his back, and handed his daughter a bottle of wine. "I figured Weiss's taste in alcohol was limited to malted beverages, so I brought this."

"Thanks, Dad," She smiled, dimples caving in her cheeks.

"Come on, Jack," Dixon called from the family room, straining his neck to be seen above the half-wall. "Sit with us. They don't bite much. Promise."

"Yeah Jack," Weiss supplemented jovially. "And bring your wallet so you can join the pool. I've got twenty on the Cowboys; they're actually pretty good this year."

"Why don't you take Marshall, too?" Sydney quickly suggested. The resident techie was staring a little too curiously at the food processor on the counter. She dug a five-dollar bill out of her purse and tossed it to the nervous man. "Here. Put five on whoever's playing Dallas."

"The Bears?" Weiss called.

"Aw crap!"

Jack glanced around at the discombobulated kitchen. Italian dressing, now dried and sticky, still slathered the floor accompanied by liberal amounts of flour and breadcrumbs. Dirty utensils and measuring cups piled high in the sink, threatening to topple over any moment. Half-finished vegetable trays sat under the microwave, which cooked a pot of frozen green beans and almond wedges. Three out of the four burners on the island stove flared in use, and the shelves in the oven next to the open and disorganized pantry held either a giant turkey or a vat of stuffing. (Sydney had refused to stick her hand up the bird's rear end for a second time.) Open cans and boxes littered every other available surface. Sydney herself looked like she just barely survived the tornado that had struck the kitchen. Hair escaped her messy bun and stuck out at odd angles, eerily reminiscent of Einstein in his latter years. Flour streaked both her face and black sweater — Weiss forgot to buy aprons in his rush — and there was an oddly shaped stain covering most of her right calf.

After taking complete stock of his daughter and her environment, Jack leaned against the half-wall and peered out the sliding glass doors behind the table. "No, I think I'll stay in here. Maybe help Sydney out."

She smiled at his not-so-subtle hint.

Vaughn tore his eyes away from the game and peered over the ledge at his girlfriend. "You want help, hon?"

Her grin turned internal at the feeling of triumph radiating from her father. "No, I'm fine," She said, giving him a chance to think of the idea on his own, to prove his chivalry even though she already knew its depths.

He stood and threw the remote at Marshall, who fumbled with it for a moment before it finally slipped through his fingers. "Well, then I'll just keep you company." Gesturing towards the newly vacated chair he added, "Go ahead, Jack. Take a seat."

Thrown for a loop, he allowed Marshall the chair and instead took up residence in a recliner across the room and in plain sight of the couple in the kitchen.

Vaughn accompanied her in the kitchen, taking over mashing duties. "Hey," He whispered confidentially over the stove top. She leaned in, and he wiped off a smudge of flour than ran from her temple to her jaw. "I had no idea how much that tutorial could help. Thanks for cooking." She blushed and bit her lip, using the gravy as an excuse to avoid his praising eyes. "I'm serious. You're, like, Emeril. Only cooler. And much sexier."

"Even with a pound of flour caked all over my clothes? And a dressing stain the size of Montana on my leg?"

"Sorry about that," He apologized, groping for her hand and kissing her knuckles around globs of flour. "I just...I couldn't resist. It's Weiss. I swear to God, he's such a bad influence."

"You know we can still hear you, right?" His best friend called from the next room.

"Maybe we'll just take this party to the basement," Vaughn suggested airily, tugging her towards the door to the stairs.

Weiss jumped up in panic. "NO!"

Sydney rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. "Real subtle, Eric. How the hell did you become a spy?"

"We've been over this before: I balance out all the Sydneys and Vaughns. It's an affirmative action-kind of thing."

"Why don't you set the table, Vaughn?" She suggested, diverting his attention. "Eric, where do you keep the non-plastic plates and silverware?"

"Ha, ha, ha. You're a funny one, Bristow. They're in the china cabinet in the dining room. But we have to use the kitchen table because the curtains in the dining room aren't heavy enough; people'll see us."

Without orders from his girlfriend, Vaughn dutifully retrieved the formal place settings and began constructing them while they both listened to Weiss and Dixon try to teach Marshall about football.

"See, the offense has the ball."

"Yeah, and the defense is trying to get the ball back and keep the other team from scoring."

"What's a 'down'?"

"The offense gets four chances to move the ball ten yards forward."

"Each chance is a down."

"Why don't they just throw the ball back and go for the other name painted in the grass?"

"Because that's the other team's end zone—"

"—Place to score."

"Then why don't they throw it somebody back there? No one's covering them."

"That's called a backwards pass."

"They're not allowed. Unless the refs are blinds. Which is a frequent occurrence."

"Then why doesn't the quarterback — right? — just run for it?"

"Because the quarterbacks aren't real athletes. They just sit there and look pretty and hand the ball to their superiorly talented running backs."

"And the Bears suck."

Sydney and Vaughn chuckled softly at their friends' antics. She turned down the burners to low and leaned back against the island as her boyfriend struggled to fold the burgundy-colored linen napkins. He looked up, caught her eye, and smiled bashfully. "This feels right, doesn't it?"

"What?" She asked, pushing off and moving to help him. "What feels right?"

"_This,"_ He answered emphatically, gesturing in the air. "Entertaining our friends on a national holiday."

"Vaughn, this isn't even our house," She pointed out with a small half-smile. "And I severely doubt this is entertaining."

"Oh, I'm entertained," Weiss interjected. "Watching Jack turn red is pretty fun. Hey Jack! Please don't shoot me...So's winning your money, Syd. Which I'll be doing in another two quarters. Come on, Cowboys; Daddy needs a lunch next week."

Sydney and Vaughn stared at each other and simultaneously burst into laughter. "So much for being sentimental," She choked out, patting down the last napkin.

"I think I can salvage this," Vaughn contradicted. She stared at him, confused. "Syd," He began, swallowing back a small lump, "when we get back to L.A., I think we should move in together."

She merely stared at him, dumbfounded. Never, _never in a million years,_ would she see that coming. She wanted to diffuse the situation with a bit of wit _('Do you have a death wish? My father's in the next room! _ He can hear you! _I'd lock my door tonight, if I were you, buddy')_, but her throat was too parched to utter the slightest squeak. Finally, one single word chased those avoidance tactics out of her mind: _'YAY!'_

She nodded.

He smiled broadly and grabbed her into a hard, forceful kiss. Leaning in to whisper in her ear, he said, "More later; I don't want your dad to murder me _too_ slowly." He winked and pulled away.

**

* * *

**

The meal progressed surprisingly smoothly. When they went to take their seats, Jack tried to wedge his way between his daughter and her boyfriend, but Weiss quickly diverted him to the head of the table. "You need to carve the turkey, Jack," Weiss had said. He could have dangled a knife in front of him and chanted, "Power, power, power, power," and it would have garnered the same result. So Sydney and Vaughn sat next to each other, hands discreetly linked beneath the hem of the white tablecloth, and across from Marshall and Weiss respectively. Dixon completed the pair of powerful bookends. And while Eric continued to kick and tease the couple, and Jack's gaze never wavered from Vaughn, no one was murdered, tortured, or even maimed; Eric, however, was reprimanded for trying to instigate a food fight. When the sweet potatoes hit her chest, Syd merely shrugged and dabbed at the spot with her napkin, commenting that it completed her ensemble and that Anne would soon have another reason to dispatch her 'connections.'

After all the agents had their fill — and depleted a large majority of the food, the most popular being the canned cranberry sauce (go figure) — Eric allowed them to retire to the basement. Sydney felt extremely apprehensive as to what they would find; it was no longer a secret that Eric planned a surprise for Vaughn's birthday. But the only difference was that the pool table had been replaced by a...bed. Sydney and Vaughn glanced at each other, clearly confused, and asked Eric with their eyes what was going on.

Weiss, visibly vibrating with excitement, pushed his way to the front of the small gathering. "First of all..." He started, fingers laced together in front of him, "there's no need to worry; the pool table's on the other side of the staircase. Second, I'd like to wish my best buddy a happy birthday. Hey Syd — he's legal! Again! And for your gift...Well, actually it's for you _and_ Sydney. Maybe even just Syd. Oh well. I put a lot of time and energy into this, so _one_ of you better enjoy this." He stopped suddenly, waiting for approval of something he had yet to show them.

The couple stared at him expectantly. "Eric?" Vaughn finally prodded, raising his eyebrows.

His friend started, bordering on parody; he uncannily resembled Marshall during a briefing. Speaking of..."Marshall? A little help?" The tech advisor rushed over to the big-screen TV, and they both began fiddling with wires, buttons, and remotes until an inbox popped up on the screen. Marshall proudly set a laptop displaying a twin inbox on the glass coffee table and gestured to Weiss for the explanation. "I — well, _we_ figured you'd both be missing home right about now, so we shmoozed the operators in charge of your France vacation cover into letting you listen to your voicemail messages. When you're done, we thought maybe you'd like to see some down-home L.A., so—" He inhaled slowly for dramatic affect, but Marshall took the pause as a cue for him to take over.

"—We set up a secure on-line web cam so you can talk with Francie and Will! And it'll be like you're chatting with them from halfway around the world!" He ignored Weiss's evil glare and grinned enthusiastically at the couple's speechlessness.

Sydney could not wish for a better gift, but she could not imagine Vaughn's possible investment in the gesture. This curiosity along with her excitement fueled her as she ran around the recliner to flop on the couch in front of the television, reaching for the remote enthusiastically. Vaughn chuckled at her and thanked his friends before ushering them out of the basement and making sure the door locked behind them. He came to rest beside his anxious girlfriend and took her hand firmly in his own. Remembering this was _his_ gift, she attempted to hand over the remote, but he refused. "This part's _definitely_ more for you than me."

"Did you know about this?" She asked curiously. "Because I'll be the first to admit I didn't."

He nodded reluctantly. "I had an inkling. But I also knew Weiss wouldn't tell you too much about it, so it'd be useless to try and get information out of you."

She laughed shortly before turning her attention to the television and laptop. As she began scrolling through the messages, she marveled at their quantity and size. Glancing up at the total number, she balked. "Oh, my God! There must be a message for every day we've been away!"

"At least." They caught each other's gaze and grinned. "There's Francie for ya."

"Oh yeah. Shall we listen?" She suggested, thumbing back to the first message.

"Only to a couple. Weiss can tell you how to access this at home." She gave him a Look. "What! Don't you want to have time to actually _talk_ to them? And maybe give me my birthday present?"

She rolled her eyes for what seemed like the millionth time that day. "By the way, what's that bed for? Does he really think that's going to discourage us from having sex on the pool table?"

"Maybe," He laughed, "but I think it's more for authenticity. I think this is supposed to be our room in France."

"Oh. And the lack of windows won't seem suspicious at all?"

"I don't think Francie will care that much. She'll be too happy to see you—" He brushed a loose lock behind her ear "—to care much about detail." They exchanged sweet smiles. "Now come on. I feel present time coming on, here."

Clicking on the first available message (dated the day they left for the Moreno Valley safe house), she sat back on the couch wrapped in the birthday boy's arms to listen to her frantic friend.

"Hey Mike! Hey Syd! I know you just left, like, literally ten minutes ago but, Syd, I miss you already! You're on your way to the airport — or stopped on the side of the road having pre-plane sex — and all I can think about is when you'll get back. Hey, when _are_ you coming home? Michael, YOU NEVER SAID WHEN YOU WERE BRINGING MY BEST FRIEND HOME! That's it; I'm digging out my broomstick and meeting you in France; no way am I going to let you leave without knowing when I'll see you again! Well, I better get on that, so I'll say good-bye before the machine cuts me—"

They could not stop laughing for a solid minute. "Now we'll _have_ to listen to the rest of them! That was amazing!"

"No way!" Sydney choked out, wiping away happiness-induced tears. "If the rest of them are as long as that, we'll be here for ages, and you're not the only one who wants your present."

They both sobered (with considerable effort) and clicked out of the inbox, leaving the rest of the messages intact but unread. As Syd began setting up the web cam, she felt Vaughn eye her, and she turned to face him. "What? Do I have something on my face?"

He chuckled in bemusement and answered, "That's an understatement, but not what I was thinking." He paused for a moment, presumably to word what he was going to say. "You should probably change."

She stared at him. "Excuse me?"

Rewetting his lips he tried again, "I mean, you're a mess. I'd think you'd want to change anyway. But we're supposed to be alone on vacation in Europe. Don't you think we should be, I don't know, a little less formal?"

"What if we just went to dinner?"

"And five thousand waiters just _happened_ to dump their trays on you?"

"Point taken. But what can we change into?"

"Well," He stalled, glancing up at the stairs and the locked door, "I do have some spare clothes here. We could change into those."

Stifling a loud guffaw, she responded, "I don't want to know. Just point me at them; I've been itching to get out of these things since you poured the dressing on me."

"Sorry again."

"Stop apologizing and grab me a shirt and a pair of your boxers!"

They changed quickly and made sure the small windows to the ground outside were completely blacked out. Settling back on the couch, Sydney logged them on to the secure CIA server, and almost immediately, they were contacted. Vaughn clasped her hand tightly as she clicked on the 'accept' button. A box popped up on the large TV screen featuring Will and Francie sitting on the couch in the apartment.

The latter practically screamed as she caught sight of the couple. "OH. MY GOD! I _totally_ thought Will was throwin' me bullshit when he said you'd be on-line today. I told him, I'm like, 'Will, dude, it's Thanksgiving,' and he says, 'Well, it's not like the French celebrate that holiday, right?' And I'm just like, 'Shut _up_, Will—'"

The analyst slapped a hand over his girlfriend's gaping mouth and smiled at them through the camera. "Hey guys. What have you been up to?"

"Not much—" Syd started to answer, her tenuous grip on sanity slipping precariously.

"Having lots and lots of sex, I bet," Francie piped up again, shoving Will's hand aside. "I mean, come on! Look at the man! How could you _not_ want to jump that every five seconds!"

"Fran, I'm _right_ here!"

"So guys," Sydney interjected loudly, drawing their attention back to her and Vaughn, "how's Los Angeles? What have _you_ been doing?"

"It's so lonely without you, Syd!" Fran exclaimed, subconsciously grabbing her boyfriend's hand. "I've never lived alone before; you know that."

"What about Will?" Vaughn asked, speaking up for the first time since they started their conversation.

"I _have_ been spending a lot of time over here, Fran," Will pointed out, a hint of smirk lilting his lips. "The travel magazine's been relying on me more and more lately. I think they're going to give me a promotion."

Sydney allowed herself the briefest glance at Vaughn out of the corner of her eye. "I'm sure you deserve it, Will. You always do great work, and I'm glad they're starting to realize your potential."

"How's your restaurant doing, Fran?" Vaughn asked, wrapping an arm around his girlfriend's shoulder.

She sat up and scooted closer to the camera in excitement. "Great! Business is awesome. Every three months or so we turn over as a new wave of out-of-work actors sweeps through town. It's really amusing. You have no idea how many applications I've gotten just for the position of Giant Walking Flier-Handing-Out Hamburger Boy."

"Oh, I can imagine," The male agent laughed. "Hey, can we talk to Will alone for a second? We have something to discuss about Christmas."

"And my birthday's coming up! My birthday! Don't forget that!"

"Don't worry, we won't, Fran."

"All right. Well, I love you both. Miss you, Syd! Have fun with all the sex! Come home soon, please!"

"'Bye, Fran," They chorused as they waved, and she exited out of both the screen and the family room.

Will paused for a good minute, listening to make sure Francie was otherwise occupied. When they were all certain she was not listening, Will leaned towards the camera with a small grin and asked, "So, where are you really?"

"Weiss's basement," Vaughn answered without hesitation. Just like Sydney had taken over the conversation prior to Francie's departure, Vaughn now held control. "How long has it been since we talked last?"

"Oh, I don't know," Will replied, cocking his head. "Can't've been that long. Maybe two weeks? Right before your last _Negro/Azuls_ meet. You went with him on that one, didn't you?" He addressed Sydney, and she could only nod in response, not understanding what they were talking about. He nodded knowingly. "How did that work out for you, by the way?"

"Not that great, but we got some important intel." He paused, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But, then again, you already knew that."

Will agreed with the single inclination of his head. "Damn straight. I've been talking with Agents Malone and Sterne ever since you all filed your reports. Didn't see that other agent coming, did we?"

"Well, it certainly wasn't expected, was it?"

"No. Hey, have you had contact with him yet?"

"I haven't. But Syd has." Her boyfriend pulled back and peered at her. "He's her English teacher."

Sydney nodded silently, her turkey-laden stomach slowing down her brain. She forced herself to speed up, to process this unbalance and correct it. "Wait a second," She chimed in, holding up a hand as if she sat in class. "What the hell is going on here? What do you mean you talked to each other _two weeks_ ago? Why wasn't I informed?"

"Remember when I said I was kind of getting a promotion?" Will asked, shifting slightly in his seat. "Well, I am. To Senior Analyst. I'm basically processing all leads and information pertaining to your mission and Project: _Initium_. Crazy, isn't it?"

"I don't know if 'crazy' is a strong enough word," Sydney mumbled, more to herself than either of them, and she snuggled back into Vaughn's side.

"Which brings me to what I really want to talk about," Will segued, addressing both of them even though Sydney knew this leg of the conversation would probably hold more weight for her boyfriend. But surprisingly, her friend turned to her and reminisced, "Remember that story I was assigned a couple of years ago? The one about abuse at the orphanage on Thirty-Second Street?"

Sydney nodded, recalling the memory without a fight. For Vaughn's benefit she clarified, "You gave up on that story because your main source was a former coke dealer and a cooberation would have required a three month-long inquest. Then Elizabeth Caray took over—"

"—And practically won a Pulitzer and a Nobel Peace Prize. I could have been a male Erin Brokovich." His eyes darted pointedly to Vaughn, and he continued, "If only I hadn't let that lead slip away."

The female agent glanced rapidly between her male counterparts. Vaughn seemed to understand perfectly so she asked, "What does he mean?"

"He wants me to keep pursuing the Lara lead," He murmured softly, emotionless. "It's not going to happen. I gave it a week; it didn't pan out; I told you that."

"You know there's not a deal every week!" Will pointed out, clasping his hands between his knees. "And there's _strong_ intelligence linking her to the _Negro/Azuls_ and especially Sark."

'_She's probably Sark's bitch. I wouldn't put it past _either_ of them.'_

"No," Vaughn insisted, shaking his head stubbornly. "She would have either capitalized on my situation within the gang or investigated me. Being linked with her neither helped me nor hurt my standing within the ranks. It's pointless."

"Look, we've got good, solid intel here, Vaughn. Don't you want to be a male Erin Brokovich?" Turning on Syd, he demanded of her, "What do you think? Shouldn't he see this lead all the way through?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vaughn duck his head and avoid looking at her altogether. If Will saw the gesture, he did not show it; he continued to coax her with his eyes. Swallowing the rapidly congealing lump in her throat, she strung her words together carefully. "I'm not exactly impartial, here." She felt Vaughn's eyes on her for the briefest of moments. "I love this man, and I trust him explicitly. And I believe that if the intelligence is solid, it is his obligation as an officer of this country to act on it. That being said—" She allowed herself the slight flicker of a grin "—he's never been one for rules and prerogatives and _obligations_. Ultimately, it's his decision; I can't do anything to change it."

"And I say no." Vaughn's arm was around her shoulders again, squeezing her for strength. Her heart swelled with pride, and she struggled to keep a bright smile from introducing her lips to her ears. She felt like a leaf caught in an updraft and swirling around the Sears Tower, never coming to rest, but forever spiraling upwards. For once, his stubbornness played in her favor.

Will nodded placidly. "I understand. Believe me, I do. Kendall just wanted me to bug you once more about it. By the by, way to be loyal." He winked at the male agent before sitting up straighter. "Well, I must be going. Thanksgiving dinner's almost ready, and I believe it's your bed time over there in France."

"'Bye Will," Syd called before ending the chat and switching off the laptop. "Well," She stalled, fiddling with the remote, "that was interesting. Want your present yet?"

"I already have it," He whispered in response, placing a hint of a kiss on her right temple. "Plus," He added, smiling down at her, "I promised I'd play pool with Weiss and Dixon. They've got twenty bucks each per game on the notion that if they can't beat me, Marshall can."

"So in other words, Pool Shark Vaughn is cruising the waters looking for chum?"

"Oh, I'd say he's found it." Weiss smiled down on them from the stairs. "You two better change back into your other clothes before Jack comes down here. He already thinks you two have spent way too much time alone."

"As long as I get my money first, I'm fine."

"Be quiet and rack 'em up, Jaws."

Vaughn won more than enough money to buy himself his own birthday present, although he thoroughly enjoyed Sydney's gift as well.

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

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**_

**Chapter Twenty-One:** Not-So-Secret Santas  
**Chapter Twenty-Two:** Russian Dolls

Hope you enjoyed! Was it fluffy? Like I said, it's been a while since I wrote fluff, so please tell me if I'm out of practice, and I'll attempt to fix it. We'll get some band fluff in the next chapter; that I'm better at, even though we've been out of school for a little over a week. Feedback is fun!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	21. NotSoSecret Santas

**Same ole, same ole...**

**Chapter Genre:** Fluffy fluff and another plot bunny at the end.

**This Chapter:** The day before break: numerous Christmas parties; a Syd/Anne/Tressaut conversation; band craziness; and yet _another_ mini-mission.

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Opera of the Bells" by Destiny's Child, "Santa Baby" by Eartha Kitt, "All I Want For Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey, "O Holy Night" by Celine Dion, "Christmas Wrapping" by the Waitresses, and "Left Out" by Shinedown.

**Author's Note:** Thanks to this chapter, my family thinks I'm even crazier than I really am. I've learned my lesson: breakin' out the Christmas music in June is _not_ considered normal...

**

* * *

**

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Twenty-One: Not-So-Secret Santas**

Red and green were _everywhere_.

It was like a plague had swept the entire school, indiscriminant of age, race, shape, or size.

Immediately proceeding Thanksgiving, Christmas and Hanukkah decorations sprung up out of nowhere to cover walls, lockers, doors, even the ceiling. Homemade snowflakes hung from paper clips while fliers for canned food drives fluttered on every locker in the school. Water fountains continually splashed over the cottony "snow" around their brims. Usually, exterior locker decorations barely lasted ten minutes let alone ten days, so whenever Sydney saw a locker criss-crossed with garland before entering a classroom and it was still there when the period ended, she nearly fell over. Needless to say, many bruises developed over various body parts.

Not only were colors catchy, but the stereotypical Christmas spirit seemed to be communicable as well. Fistfights took a nose-dive, only occurring between fictional characters on Game Boys smuggled into the school. When a freshman dropped her books in the hall — as they all invariably did — upperclassmen stooped to pick them up instead of kicking them farther down the hall. If someone needed an extra quarter for lunch, the entire line would dig and scrape until at least one person found and gave it to him. Rival circles of friends that normally broke rumors broke bread instead. Sydney marveled at the change; as Anne put it: "Why can't people be this nice all year? It's so..._nice."_

The only damper on spirits was the homework load. Teachers — who probably called a meeting and collectively concluded the students were too happy with their lives — piled on the homework, something Sydney did not expect in the slightest. When _she_ was in high school, the first term (or 'semester,' as these crazy kids called it) ended before school let out on break; midterms (or, again, 'finals') were taken the week before. Therefore, she was not expecting to 'learn' new material in the weeks leading up to Christmas. She approached Anne with a carefully worded question expressing her consternation, and her friend answered that the administration scheduled finals for the second week after they came back. They did this, she had explained, to screw the students over, not to make it easier on the teachers as they said. To add insult to injury, the teachers assigned new lessons up until the day before break whereupon they shoved review packets at the students to complete over vacation.

"But," Anne had added, leaning in conspiratorially, "we have a way around it. Make sure someone from our group of friends does the packet or whatever, then copy it the day we get back. Or call up one of us and we'll help you out; we'll track down someone who took the class last year and get their packet. Or look it up on-line. Or call an EEP."

"A jigga-what?"

"An EEP — Emergency Expert Party."

"Lord, you guys are big on acronyms. What's an EEP?"

"When you call an EEP, you literally phone up everybody in our circle and have a gathering at your house — complete with snacks, of course — and we all come over with our hardest review packets. Then we work on them together. They don't get called that often because it's a lot of work to orchestrate. Plus, having about twenty kids over at your house at one time tends to piss off the parental units." She shrugged and crunched on a Snickers bar.

'_So...Doing it myself it is!'_

She merely dug in her heels, dumped her math homework off on Marshall, and jumped in headfirst.

By far the worst homework load, though, was in English. It had a department final (one that all English Four students took, regardless of whether they were in Advanced Placement or not) with an essay of the teacher's choice. So Tressaut assigned The Canterbury Tales and five prompts to choose from. Syd planned on getting the CIA to send the annotated version she used in college. (Anne was exited beyond belief; she loved Chaucer, and would not stop talking about how "the theories and message from 'The Wife of Bath's Tale' should be used modern days." Syd had rolled her eyes playfully.)

Mr. Tressaut (Charles? Agent Malone? Mark? She did not know what to call him anymore) had not drastically changed his attitude towards Sydney since her trip to the Egg. She assumed he knew who she truly was now, if not from the beginning, but knew why he should not try to contact her with any covert protocol. If he was making deals with the _Negro/Azuls_, he could not risk his cover by being seen fraternizing with someone closely connected to its lower-ranking members; it would reflect poorly on him, and even worse on Vaughn. But the more she thought about the English teacher, the more she wanted to know. What exactly was he doing? Was he keeping the gang off the radar at the school, or at least from being busted?

Anyway, it was a good thing she did not show her father the camera feeds from Tressaut's room.

None of the agents had contact with their Chicago counterparts (excluding Tressaut) since the day Sydney witnessed her father's angry tirade, but her night at the Egg left Sydney deeply disturbed. Not about her mother's involvement and Project: _Initium_, though; it was nigh near impossible for her mother to become more evil than her daughter thought her to be. No, the problem was deeper than that.

Why in the world had Sydney asked if Anne was a double agent? She had been pushing the troubling thought to the back of her mind since she and Vaughn had piled into Cassidy's car for the ride home. Was she really that skeptical of people, that reluctant to let people befriend her that she had to think they were deceiving her? The thought made Syd sick to her stomach. To make up for her blunder, she doubled her efforts to be a good friend to the young student, going home with her and doing their homework together at Anne's house until Vaughn finally called to ask where the hell she was. _'She's like my temporary Francie,'_ She had thought once, looking up from her AP Chem notebook at Anne. The latter was struggling through her math, but at the time was working on getting all the black pencil smudges off of her eraser, biting her tongue in concentration. _'Only not,'_ She had added as the eraser broke and hit Anne square in the forehead. _'She's...she's just Anne.'_

'Just Anne' was being her normal self in the weeks before break even if Sydney was slightly off. The Wednesday after Thanksgiving, they held class meetings in band during which the entire senior class was lectured by Crazy-Planning Control Freak Anne. First, everyone signed up for and received Secret Santas; they had to spend fewer than five dollars on a gift for another band member to be handed out on the last day before break. (Anne assured them that, no, the limit was not mandatory, just like the year before. In fact, she defied them to find something fewer than five dollars that could be a good gift.) Syd was assigned some freshman named Sara Harte, but as soon as Jamie Mathers left the room to make the juniors pick, everyone began trading, and when presented with the opportunity to buy for Sophia Lake, Syd promptly traded. Weiss ran a regular auction, but Vaughn kept his, and when his girlfriend asked whom he had, he only shrugged and pocketed the slip of paper, sitting back to wait for the next order of business.

Everyone leaned towards Anne as she reclaimed Guter's seat behind the podium. Her next three words sent the students into a frenzy: "Wall decorating contest." Frantic demands clashed with excited ideas, and Anne had hopped off the chair and, along with Summer, called the class back to order. The three agents looked around, bewildered, and were about to appeal to Anne for an explanation when she beat them to the punch. Every year, Guter assigned each class a wall of the band room to decorate (seniors the north drum line wall; juniors the east by the chorus room and music hallway; sophomores the opposite wall by the TV; and freshman had the wall with the lockers) in any way they wanted, and apparently each class took the competition seriously. Halfway through her explanation, Danny Buchanon loudly complained about moving on, threw a paper ball at her, and blamed it on Josh Whist.

The band president and friend proceeded to plan out the entire wall on the dry erase board down to the cumulative price of their supplies. Right as they were finalizing payment plans, though, the junior class walked in, and Anne had to quickly erase their map. Guter then ushered in the freshmen from the hall and barked at everyone to get back to their normal places.

So the promise of a band party, Christmas gifts, decorating, and then two weeks of blissful nothingness were what fueled Sydney during those last few days before break. On that Friday, Vaughn showed up on her doorstep early wearing an oversized Santa hat. She rolled her eyes playfully, but let him in all the same saying, "Well? Where's my present?"

He chuckled as she gathered her own presents for their group of friends. "Real or gag? Although they _both_ have to do with sex." He gave her a wink as her face lit up excitedly. "You'll get the fake present when everyone else gets theirs. And the real one will have to wait 'til Christmas morning."

"Not fair!" She cried as he led the way to his car. "I was going to give you real presents both times."

"We were going to have sex in school?"

"Michael C. Vaughn! No!"

"Can't blame me for trying."

They arrived just in time to snag the last spot by Entrance A, and the couple rushed inside, avoiding the brisk winter wind and a few students holding a snow vigil. Disappointingly, snow had yet to fall during their stay in Illinois. Students were upset but acclimated to the notion of no white Christmas, or even white New Year's Eve. Still, a few held out hope, Anne being one of them. Each day, she brought her 'packing gloves' to school just in case it snowed during school. Then she could easily nail any of them while they strolled to their cars unawares. Consequently, Weiss had also fallen into the habit of lugging anything large enough to act as a shield to and from his car every day.

That was how the couple recognized him on the way to their lockers. Besides his heavy winter coat and loaded backpack, he also toted a large purple saucer sled, desperately trying to shield it from view every time a teacher walked past. They accosted him as he rounded the corner by Commons, nodding to Dixon — who was wearing a red sweater vest that day, as were the other security guards — before continuing down the hallway. "Uh, Greg?" Syd prodded, poking him in the side as they began ascending the staircase to their lockers. "Whatcha doin'?"

"With this?" He responded, holding up the sled. "Protection. I have a feeling it's going to snow today. At least, that's what Anne said on the phone last night; said her knee's acting up again, like it does when it's gonna storm."

"You know it's not going to fit in your locker, right?"

"Why would it need to?"

"Teachers aren't going to let you bring it to class, Greg!"

"You don't think they'd believe it was a therapeutic ass cushion?"

"_NO!"_

"Oh." He paused, peering at the sled in thought while the other two finished organizing themselves and their lockers. "I'll just put it in the band room, then. Tape it to the wall or something."

Honestly, neither Vaughn nor Sydney would put it past him. He had jumped headfirst into the ferocious competition and was determined to aid "the seniors' quest to dominate the school." Since the contest was announced, all classes had been bringing in materials ranging from lights to wrapping paper to more lights to fiber-optic garland. The competition was the fiercest between the seniors and sophomores. When the latter wrote 'sophomore class rox' in masking tape on their wall, the seniors had bested them with 'Have a Hip-Hoppinin' Christmas and a Krazy Kwanza' on their wall with red and green duct tape courtesy of Henry. (They got in trouble with Guter when they stacked up four chairs and two stools and told Matt Herbert — the tallest guy in the band — to stand on them just so they could spell their message.) When the seniors taped up a background of snowflake wrapping paper, the sophomores quilted their wall with patches of different wrapping paper. The last straw was when the sophomores brought in a dancing and singing miniature Christmas tree and placed him on the file cabinets under the television. Syd had yet to see the senior class's retribution, but she had an inkling it would be spectacular.

In other words, a purple sled would be nowhere near out of the box.

Syd shrugged indifferently, twisting the top of her garbage bag full of presents. "Whatever. You go do that, and we'll be downstairs with everyone else." Weiss bounded down the stairs as the couple slowly followed. "So," She started, intertwining her fingers with Vaughn's, "what did you get the Child on Crack? Gag or real?"

"Do you even have to ask? He's getting water wings so he doesn't drown at the regional swim meet. What about you?"

She ducked her head and blushed as he held the door for her. "Well, I figured you'd do something like that, so I gave him cologne. From both of us."

"You're an angel," He thanked her, kissing her temple as they rounded the corner and stopped suddenly.

There in front of them stood a Sexy Mrs. Claus, Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, and three elves, mingling among the rest of their friends.

Sydney suddenly felt as if she had been transported back to Halloween.

When Rudolph and an elf flanked Sexy Mrs. Claus despite her protestations, Syd knew Anne was in the latter costume. That meant Henry was Rudolph _('Duh!')_ and John Motz (along with Mike Holcomb and Tobi Morrison) was dressed in green tights, green shorts, a green hat, and green pointed shoes with bells. Anne turned around clutching a garbage bag similar to Syd's, dropped the bag, and squealed, eyes locked on their linked hands. "The real Mister and Missus Claus are here! _Bonjour, le Pére du Noël! Est-ce que tu peux me prêter ton chapeau?"_

"_Non,"_ Vaughn replied, squeezing his girlfriend's hand before dropping it and placing his hat on her head. _"C'est pour ma cherié."_

"Aw!" The girls sighed, beckoning them over.

Before they all sat down, John tapped Anne on the shoulder and asked curiously, "They're the real Clauses? Does that mean we have to guard them, too?"

"Hell, I don't even want you to guard _me_!" Anne cried, smacking him upside the head. "Now sit down, shut up, and give me your presents." The elves dumped their own shopping bags into Anne's satchel, and she held it out to the new arrivals, who quickly imitated their younger friends and sat down in what they assumed was the receiving line.

Syd tapped Anne's arm as the latter began rifling through her overflowing bag. "Uh, why are you—"

Her friend cut her off with an exasperated sigh. "A bunch of us stayed after school yesterday to decorate the wall, and Ben and I were searching the colour guard room, and we found a huge box of Christmas lights and garland and crap. But we also found this really old Santa suit, so he decided he'd be Santa Claus and I'd be Missus Claus. So last night — at about ten, might I add — Greg took me out to a costume shop and helped me pick this up. I can't believe the place was still open, but—" she spun around "—what do you think? Mission accomplished?"

"I wanna sex you up," Henry interjected through a mouthful of Katie Goode-brand chocolate.

"Was I talking to you? That's what I though. Turn around; face the corner. No one loves you here."

"Uh, Anne?" Syd prodded again, eyes wide. Her brain had stopped working sometime after _'Greg took me out'_ and had yet to start up again. Reluctant as she was to admit it, Syd was warming up to the idea of two of her best friends testing the dating waters together. Anne _was_ officially legal, so the only thing really standing in their way now was..._Sydney_. She _had_ to know. "Is there, um, anything I should know about you and, uh, Greg?"

Anne stared at her a moment, slightly confused, as she processed what her friend was asking. Suddenly her eyes widened in understanding. "Oh! No! No, no, no! Well, not really. Kinda. I...don't...know. See, I like—"

"Holy crap!" The subject of the conversation raced out of the band room and towards them, his presents stuffing two Abercrombie bags. "What the hell did you guys do to our wall? It's...it's—"

"Amazing?" Half the group answered in unison. Everyone but Anne sat down finally, and Anne explained for Syd and Vaughn's benefit, "See, to get back at those stupid second-year freshmen, we put—"

"Don't!" Henry exclaimed, practically tackling her to keep their secret in tact. She teetered and fell onto him, struggling not to scrunch her bag of goodies in the process. Everyone laughed heartily and quickly began throwing playful insults and nicknames at their friends...Everyone but Weiss. Syd glanced over at her fellow agent to see him two steaming ears away from seething. He clenched his fists repeatedly as Henry helped her up again, brushing off her crushed velvet skirt.

Syd did not know whether to be worried or amused. "Come on!" She exclaimed loudly over the din, hoping to distract everyone. "Let's make with the presents! I need some chocolate: the lack of beach weather is making me ill."

Anne proceeded to act as her costume suggested and handed out the gifts in her sack. Halfway through her presentation (and midway through kicking Vaughn for starting to unwrap early), Summer showed up and rushed to the locker behind Sydney, nearly whacking her in the face with her numerous bags. Vaughn and Sydney scooted over to accommodate her, and when she collapsed with a sigh — ducking as Anne threw a present to Syd — the female agent smiled reassuringly. "Late?"

"My brother's such an ass!" She exclaimed, throwing her keys over her shoulder and digging in a bag amidst low whistles of surprise; she almost never swore. "'We need gas, Summer. We need breakfast, Summer. I left my backpack at home, Summer.' Thanks to him, we had to park at Kerr McGee. Here," She added, handing a brightly wrapped box to Sydney. "Merry Christmas."

She accepted it, slightly bewildered. Peering at the senior she questioned, "Thanks, but Summer, I—"

"Oh no. You're Jewish, aren't you? Oh, I'm so sorry; I didn't know. Anne, thanks a lot for leaving out that detail—"

"No! That's not it!" Syd cut her off, smiling genially. "It's just that—" She paused, choosing her words carefully so as not to offend her friend "—I thought you were Muslim. And _Eid_ was over a long time ago. And they don't celebrate Christmas."

The seniors of the group smiled knowingly as Anne continued to play Santa Claus, passing a present to Summer. The latter laughed and began tossing her own packages to people in the circle. "I may not celebrate Christmas, but my friends certainly do."

"And just because she doesn't celebrate it, doesn't mean she can't give her friends presents," Anne added, rolling up the bag and shoving it into her open locker. "I mean, we _do_ give her food baskets at the end of Ramadan. We deserve a little something in return."

On that note, everyone began opening their presents. Wrapping paper, ribbons, bags, and miles of tissue paper piled onto the floor, practically engulfing the group of friends en masse. Squeals of delight erupted at a 'real' gift as did groans of disapproval at 'gag' gifts. Weiss blew up the water wings he received from Vaughn and proceeded to chase his friend around the second floor, yelling at him in an unintelligible language that, to him, sounded akin to French.

After rifling through about ten boxes, Syd finally extract an I.O.U. card from Eric, who winked before whipping around the corner again. Anne had given her a leather-bound edition of Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare, and when Syd began flipping through it, she saw Anne had gone through and annotated random sections with funny or serious commentary. _('"Hark! What light through yonder window breaks! 'Tis the east, and Juliet is the sun..." You still lose! I win!' '"...star-crossed lovers..." Not anymore...' '"Oh Romeo, Romeo! Wherefore art thou Romeo?" If you _ever_ quote that I swear to God...')_ She also received many other knickknacks — candles were _extremely_ popular.

Anne thoroughly enjoyed the ancient Greek dictionary and copy of the Iliad in the original language: a Syd/Vaughn joint gift. Her girl friends gave her strange knickknacks such as gel pens and a dry erase board — but no candles. Everyone knew, Anne informed her on their way to English with their loot, she only accepted gifts that were useful "in the everyday capacity."

She, however, did not receive a gift from Weiss.

The majority of Vaughn's packages consisted of French-to-English dictionaries.

When the bell for first hour rang, one would have thought it signaled the release of Hell. People scrambled for their supplies as well as their gifts, trying to scoop them all up before someone else swept them into the garbage along with the miscellaneous wrappings and trappings. Vaughn planted a firm farewell kiss on Sydney's lips, whispering a French parting before taking off down the stairs. A silly grin remained fixed upon her face as she waited for her friend to find her platter of World Famous Brownies amid the bulky winter coat stuffed into the small locker. Finally extracting it, they walked quickly towards their classroom amid the first strains of "Silent Night" over the P.A. system. (Anne had warned her about this a few days ago. During passing periods, Chamber Choir would sing Christmas carols over the pubic address system. The only thing was, their repertoire was extremely limited. While they did sing "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" and "Do You See What I See," Madden would seem to remember it was a _public_ school, and then direct them in a rendition of "Let It Snow" only to lapse back into "Ave Maria". "Just once I want to heart the dreidle song," Anne had said.)

English promised no learning; only a Christmas party complete with food, drink, and cards from Tressaut. Syd, still supremely wary of both him and their situation, elected not to bring a contribution for the English party, but did remember to pack a bag of Chex Mix for band. The bell rang without Tressaut present, so the students began the party without him, designating the unpopulated front table for snacks and drinks. Anne did not even bother to remove the cellophane before abandoning her brownies and retreating to the back with Syd.

"Joe invited you to his caroling party, right?" Anne asked as they sat down, pleasantly ignored by the rest of the students.

Syd cast about in her memory but remembered nothing. "Nope. But I probably wouldn't go anyw—"

"Well, I'm inviting you," She cut her off, her solemn face provoking a smile from the female agent. "And no is _not_ an option. Of course, Michael can come too."

"I _really_ don't think we should come," Syd protested out of politeness.

"Oh please," Anne waved her off. "It's our own little tradition. Plus, you said you sing," She added, harkening back to the first day of band camp. "Maybe you could actually help us carry a tune this year. God, last year? During our unholy rendition of 'Silent Night', some of us were so high that _dogs in China_ could hear us. I swear! And we always make rude snow angels in people's yards when we know they're home and they don't answer the door." She offered a wink, and Syd finally gave in, smiling her assent. Anne straightened in her seat and folded her hands on the tabletop as if she were giving a formal presentation. "Okay, here's the deal. I'll give y'all directions to Joe's house. Wear warm clothing, and bring a white elephant gift — you know what that is? A crazy-ass gift — for the grab bag and an appetite; his mom is the _best_ cook."

"Who else is gonna be there?" Syd questioned, offering a piece of gum to Anne, who politely declined.

Anne shook her head and shrugged her shoulders, but she guessed anyway, "Most of our group, Tom Link maybe, a few of Joe and Allyson's 4-H friends, their sister and _her_ old band friends for sure. Hey! That means the return of Allie Sirot! Maybe I'll get to feel her testicles again! Her drumsticks," She added for clarification. "Believe me, these people are the epitome of cool; you'll fit _right_ in."

The smile shared between the two rivaled those shared between Syd and Francie.

Just then, the door to their left slammed open, and Mr. Tressaut staggered in carrying a full box. Girls scrambled to help their teacher, but since Anne was merely a foot away, she got there first and took one end of the heavy container. "Thank you, Anne," He said, slightly muffled behind the cardboard. He back his way towards his desk, and the two slid the box carefully next to the computer.

"What's inside, Mister T?" Philip West called from the side of the classroom.

He did not look up as he sliced open the container with a pair of scissors. "Your presents," He answered simply, extricating a thick envelope. From that he pulled a stack of holiday cards and finally turned towards the class at large. "Since this is a public school, and I respect your religion or lack of one, I had to get 'Happy Holidays' cards. And yes, Vicky, they're personalized." The girl snapped her mouth closed, blushing, and he smiled genially. "I put a message in there for each of you. Alright, who's first? Ah, Jane!"

Slightly surprised, it took her a moment to rise and wind her way through people and chairs and tables. She heard Vicky whisper to another girl indiscreetly behind her hand, and she was very aware of the feet trying to bar her way, but she ignored them, and accepted the card with a quiet thank-you before returning to her seat.

Anne respectively leaned away from Syd as Tressaut continued to call more names, allowing her due privacy. Syd slid the card from the unsealed envelope and opened it carefully. Not bothering to read the printed blathering on either the front or inside, her eyes darted directly to his small, sloppy scribble. _'I wish you unusual knowledge or outrageous numbskullosity over break.'_

It was code.

The last two words were discreetly set off from the rest, indicating they were not part of the message. She began running through different deciphering mechanisms before alighting on the appropriate one. Properly decoded, his message simply read:

'_I KNOW YOU.'_

Well then. There was the answer she needed. She nodded solemnly before replacing the card as Anne retook her seat beside her. The agent glanced up at her teacher and caught his eye. He nodded once and turned back to the dwindling number of cards in his hand. That was when she noticed the absence of a ring, but the presence of a slight tan. A corner of her lip twitched upwards in recognition.

"What the hell? I know the man for three years and all I get is a 'Have a happy holiday season; don't do anything I wouldn't do'? That's bullshit. What did you get? What'd he say to you?"

Quickly weighing her options, Syd determined it would seem more suspicious if she withheld her card. So she handed it over, shrugging, and mumbled indifferently, "Eh, something stupid. Dunno what it means. I'd rather have your cookie-cutter message."

Anne read over it carefully multiple times before offering it back. "Hey, maybe it's code for something!' She exclaimed quietly, having the sense to keep her volume checked. Syd struggled to refrain from paling drastically. "Maybe he's trying to tell you he's secretly in love with you, but can't act on it 'cause you're underage! Man, that's _totally_ unfair! You get all the hot guys." She winked even as she pretended to pout.

Tressaut wandered over at that point, a half-eaten brownie clutched gingerly with three fingers. "Anne, these brownies are as amazing as I remember."

The student flushed slightly and ducked her head. "Thanks, Mister T. Oh, and thanks for the card; I really appreciate it."

"No problem." Taking another bite of brownie he asked, "So what are you girls doing for break? Are you going on vacation?"

"No. I've never been on a vacation with my family," Anne answered, this time pouting for real, "only on band trips. And even then we've only been to Boston once and St. Louis twice. And St. Louis ain't that interesting the first time around."

"What about you, Jane?" The teacher asked, professionally ignoring the bait Anne had laid out. "Are you going anywhere?"

She could tell he was not _really_ asking about 'her family'. He was probably covertly digging for possible mission info or leads. Or he was testing her, testing her to see if she really _was_ as good a spy as everyone said; to see if she would slip up. Too bad there was no mission, anyway. "Nope," She responded simply, shaking her head slightly. "This'll be the first time both my parents and I have ever seen snow, so we figured we'd stick around for the winter." She struggled not to let triumph taint her smile.

He nodded again, conceding both the question and the point. The conversation lulled uncomfortably for a while as Tressaut finished his food, and Syd was about to excuse herself, citing a rumbling stomach, but he procured another question before she even opened her mouth. "Has either of you been accepted to any colleges yet? Decided what you want to go into?"

Anne groaned and her shoulders slumped. "I applied to Harvard to appease my dad. I'm _never_ expecting to hear back from them. I got accepted to Southern Illinois University; my mom really wants me to go to SIU 'cause that's where she went. I always point out that, hey, she never actually _graduated_, so why's she all uppity about me going there? But where I want to go — where I _really_ want to go — is either Georgetown or UCLA. Those are my dream schools. I want to go into politics with a minor in English."

Syd nearly choked on her tongue, but recovered quickly enough to conjure another fast fib. "Since we moved so recently, my parents aren't exactly loaded, so I'll probably end up going to the College of DuPage for two years while working part time. C.O.D. is pretty much all we can afford right now."

Her friend turned around to face her, eyebrows knotted together. "Aw, Jane, that's not fair! You should go anywhere you want, no matter the cost. You only go to college once, and no one can put a price on education. Plus, if you get a really kick-ass job, you can pay off student loans in no time. Then you can pay off mine." She smiled brightly, and Syd could feel Anne restrain herself from placing a reassuring hand atop hers.

"Sound advice, Anne," Tressaut stated, the corners of his lips curving slightly. He looked like he wanted to say more, but the bell rang at that moment, and everyone rushed to gather their things, wish their teacher a merry Christmas, and bustle out of the room.

After a brief detour to her locker, Syd hustled into the music department and deposited her Secret Santa gift on the table in the hallway. As she passed Guter's office, she saw Anne and Ben, dressed as the famous Christmas Couple, talking animatedly with the director who, despite himself, had dressed in green corduroy pants and a red polo shirt. She continued on through the wooden double doors amidst a crowd of freshmen. The room was organized in the same manner as it was on Halloween, tables with food, dry erase board, and all. She placed her rather small bag of Chex Mix (at least, it was small compared to that Ruffles bag big enough to feed a county) on one end of the table and began searching for her friends.

Then she saw the wall.

"Holy shit!"

The giant concert bass drum had been moved off to a corner and turned horizontal. Upon it stood a miniature nativity scene, complete with cotton ball snow and a Lego Jesus. Two of the four tympani flanked it on either side; one represented Hanukkah with a menorah made of gum wrappers and more duct tape; the other Kwanza with drumsticks comprising the African version of the Jewish relic. Over the drum line door hung Weiss's sled, laden with pounds of fake snow and rigged to look like it could tip at any second. In the other corner of the back wall slumped a 'Christmas tree' that could have trumped even the scroungiest of Charlie Brown's specimens. From a large, green plastic garbage can protruded multiple tree branches void of leaves but strung with garland and a string of Santa-shaped lights. _'So this must be retribution for their dancing tree,'_ Syd deduced, smirking internally. _'Well, it can't sing, but at least it didn't cost twenty-odd bucks. And it still beats the hell out of anything the sophomores could've come up with.'_

Malissa Kinils and the juniors had yet to do anything to their wall besides outline Guter's office window, the practice room windows, and both the music department doors and the door to the chorus room. Syd remembered they had tried to spell 'junior' with a rope light, but could not decide on the correct placement, so the material ended up draped over the computer desk, not even plugged in. _'They're out of the running for sure.'_

The freshmen were not much better; in fact, they were light years worse. Ismail, Summer's aforementioned "ass" of a brother, suggested his class outline each closet door with lights. It was an innocuous notion at first...until everyone had to get out their instruments. Unrelenting feet crushed the defenseless bulbs, littering multicoloured glass all around the band room. The tape securing the strands weakened under the incessant assault, and more than one student found themselves under aerial attack from the falling Christmas lights. This had gone on to such an extent that Guter stepped in and bluntly command the youngest teens to remove the decorations — and clean up the mess.

The booing had lasted well after they finished sweeping up.

As Syd dragged her eyes away from the revamped senior wall, she caught sight of her group of friends in the trumpet section in front of the percussion chimes. Weiss stood up with his arms wide. "Welcome to the party, Miss Porter! While you're down there, grab me a pop and one of Anne's Famous Brownies; I'm starving."

"Get it yourself, you shiftless ass!" Syd whipped around to see Anne holding the door for Ben, who was dragging in a large red bag stuffed with the Secret Santa presents. Anne scowled up at Weiss as more band members trickled in and found seats. "Get off your lazy ass for once! Why do you always have Jane do everything for you? Lord!"

"Anne!" Guter bellowed from his office.

She winced. "Yeah?"

"You tell 'im."

The portion of the class within earshot applauded as Weiss sank back into his seat dejectedly. Syd followed Anne to where Guter's podium would have been and questioned quietly, "What's up? Wanna talk?"

Glaring at her friend under her eyebrows and Santa hat she replied harshly, "He didn't get me a present. He's my Secret Santa, and he didn't get me a _fucking present."_

Syd reeled at her friend's harsh language, and began straightening boxes on the food table to look busy. "How do you know? Maybe someone else got you."

She shook her head fervently, following Syd's lead and breaking open a case of pop. "I'm positive. He didn't even play it close to the vest! Ricky Cheer said he was telling _everyone_ that he had me, even asking what to get! And then he fucking shows up without as much as a fucking card...! He must've known it would get back to me somehow. How could it not? I mean, I'm the fucking _President_ of this Goddamn thing! It's like he _meant_ to hurt me, like he woke up today and said, 'Hey, I haven't been an asshole in a while. Why don't I _not_ give Anne her present today?' And after I spent forty-seven dollars and seventy-one cents on 'Monty Python and the Holy Grail.' He said he always wanted it."

Angry tears shined in Anne's eyes, but Sydney remained silent, merely tearing open her bag of Chex Mix; she had heard many a rant akin to this, and knew by now that the best way to help was to just let her be angry. Syd was angry herself. To think that mere hours ago she had re-contemplated where she stood on the Anne/Weiss issue! She kicked herself for thinking _Anne_ was the immature party involved. She glared up at Weiss, who was laughing and talking away with Vaughn, Henry, and John Motz. If only they were not in school..._then_ she would give him a nice chuck of her mind...Or a concussion...

Finally offering a watery smile. Anne straightened her red skirt as she smoothed out her composure. "So," She began surprisingly steady, "what did you get Sophia? Please tell me it's a Stick-in-the-Ass Remover from Spencer's? I will hand it to her personally." Despite her rant, she winked cheekily.

"Hey, how'd you know who I had?" Sydney asked accusatorily.

"Did you not hear me? I'm the freaking President; it happens." A characteristic bright smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "Plus, _no one_ can keep these things secret. Guter just might as well call it Get Whoever the Hell You Want a Present 'Cause I Could Care Less. So...what'd ya get 'er?"

Syd smiled and leaned in conspiratorially. "Chill Pills. From Spencer's."

"Rock on." Anne clapped her friend's shoulder with an air of finality, but before she turned to Ben to start the party, she asked one more question. "What did Michael get you? Oh, come on! You _had_ to know he'd trade as many people as it took to get you!"

Blushing she answered, "I honestly had no idea. D'you know...?" She trailed off hopefully, but her friend merely shook her head. "Okay," She conceded, arms folded over her chest, "who else do you know?"

"Well," They both leaned in with the mutual pretense of unwrapping a batch of cookies, "I know the entire drum line pitched in and got Michael—"

"Hey Anne?" Weiss interrupted, tapping the student on the shoulder timidly, one hand behind his back. She refused to turn around, and when Weiss appealed to Sydney for help, she only shrugged and moved down the table, making sure she could still hear them. "I, uh," He stumbled, fumbling with whatever was behind his back, "I got you something." He offered a small, poorly wrapped square box, and she turned around to take it begrudgingly. As she ripped off the paper, he hastily explained, "It's a crystal baseball ornament. You know, for your collection? And there's also a signed Sosa card in there. I pulled some strings, but I couldn't get a rookie card."

Anne's tears were back, but she smiled up at him in pure disbelief. She gently placed the box on the table but held the baseball card tightly in her fist. "How did you...? Why did you...? Wha...?"

"Merry Christmas," He whispered, adjusting her Santa hat with one hand and brushing away a tear with the other. A look passed between them, one that would have baffled others. But Sydney knew that look; she and Vaughn had shared it many times before. At that moment, Anne broke the mood and verifiably squealed, jumping up and throwing her arms about his neck in unadulterated joy.

"!" She exclaimed, not bothering to breathe.

Just then, Guter waddled in with the final bell, clutching a stack of CDs with both hands. "Break it up ladies," He ordered as he passed, cuffing Anne on the shoulder. "And start passing out those presents." All three of them nodded, and the two student/agents dodged through students, stands, and chairs to the rest of their friends as Anne and Ben garnered the attention of their classmates.

As soon as all the presents were given out, Guter announced the winner of the wall contest. After a long look at the sophomore wall, he pronounced the seniors champion, and retreated into his office with a plate of cookies.

Amid food, friends, and really old Christmas music, band members everywhere opened their Not-So-Secret Santa gifts. Syd lay in wait 'til Sophia opened her present, and then ducked conveniently behind Mike Holcomb and Weiss when she came by searching for the female agent. Syd unwrapped her gift to find a box of Trojan condoms. She slapped the back of Vaughn's head, but he merely explained that condom vending machines were all over France ("even next to toy shops"), and he thought there were not enough in America. Weiss literally got up and danced upon unveiling Anne's gift, then promptly asked for a coconut shell cut in half and paraded around the room with it for the rest of the period.

Vaughn's gift, however, put all the rest to shame. Hos Potter was his original Secret Santa, but as Anne said, the rest of the drum line chipped in. They ventured over to the group of seniors (sans Lara, of course, who was nowhere to be seen the entire day) and presented him with a veiled, life-size object. Upon lifting the sheet, Vaughn could merely hang his head in embarrassment. Underneath was a plastic blow-up doll clad only in a bikini. The hair was painted brown, and Sydney's I.D. picture had been scanned and affixed to the plastic face. Sydney blushed and pulled her boyfriend's hat over her face.

Eventually, the band portion of the party ended, but it picked up again during French class. (Actually, all they did was watch an episode of "The Simpsons" in French.) By the time Vaughn left her at Bretts's door, Syd was not only stuffed, but her arms were full of gifts, not just from the morning (she had forgotten to drop them off after first hour), but they were beginning to accrue throughout the day. At the end of a rousing rendition of "Jingle Bells" and the subsequent warning bell, Syd walked into the room expecting another party but finding only a surprise pop quiz. She cursed him under her breath as she sat down. _'You know, if Sark ever waltzes in here with a gun, I will be the first person to use this man as a human shield.'_

Lunch came and went uneventfully, and Syd deposited her acquisitions at her locker before jogging to gym. This time she knew not to dress, and her class merely sat on the stationary bikes and watched informercials for the entirety of the hour. Every time Clark came near Anne and Sydney, the former would strike up a conversation and immediately absorb herself in it up until the teacher walked away. Syd did not bother to ask why she was avoiding Clark; she just continued to watch a husband and wife peddle a set of knives that promised to cut through sheet metal to her and her classmates.

Chemistry was ten times more enjoyable on this day before break than Halloween, as none of the agents had to avert their eyes from the teacher; Jack only wore a red Oxford shirt to exhibit his holiday spirit. He popped in "A Garfield Christmas" and retreated to his computer, completely ignoring the poker ring established in the back of his classroom in which Weiss and Vaughn were emptying the pockets of everyone they faced.

To round out the day, there was another party in Syd's tenth hour math class, her fourth of the day.

So when Syd arrived slightly late to their last scheduled meeting of the year citing numerous droppings of her presents, no one was really surprised. Three of those packages, though, were for her fellow agents, and before the official debrief began, all six government employees indulged in a gift exchange. Dixon received the most, as he had informed them he would be traveling home to Diane and his family for the two weeks of break. When asked whether Kendall sanctioned the vacation, he shrugged and asked rhetorically, "Do I care?"

Jack finally regained everyone's attention, and he took his customary seat behind his desk with his hands folded on the cool top. "Vaughn? Anything?" He did not need complete sentences anymore; they were that entrenched in routine. Syd was glad they were getting a break from the grind, something near-impossible back in L.A.

Her boyfriend straightened in his seat, attempting to look more professional than a Santa hat would allow. "Last weekend, _El Papí_ called a number of us to a meeting, including a few of the higher-ups in the _Negro/Azuls_. Apparently, I shot an important Black Disciple at the botched meet, and since Gonzalez was killed that night, they're promoting me to his old position. I'm now security for the gang." He beamed proudly, and Sydney weakly followed suit. "And," He continued, and she fought to keep from clenching her fist, "on their way out, the Chicago branch captured _five_ members by means of King Troy's Vice Lords, including two of Gonzalez's old lackeys. All in all, I'd say it was a good week." His smile remained on his face as Sydney's wore off.

Ever since the encounter with the _Negro/Azuls_ in Chicago, Sydney had been questioning her role in this operation. Yes, she was doing her job: keeping up her cover, investigating any possibly questionable person she met in any of her clubs, and assisting others when needed. But nothing — absolutely _nothing_ had panned out for her so far. Even Weiss had confiscated a bottle of steroids from Bob Whorlie's gym locker! (He was still serving a six-week suspension.) All she had done was pretend to be a prostitute and almost die in a shoot out. For the first time in her life, she felt useless; she felt helpless; she felt extraneous. If she voiced these concerns to Vaughn, he would slip back into the familiar handler role and spit out the insipid company lines he recently came to dislike. Without realizing it, he would be telling her everything she did not want to hear.

"Sydney? Anything?"

So she would keep quiet, suffer in silence.

"Nope," She replied with a disappointed sigh, playing her part perfectly. "Nothing."

But she had not bargained on Vaughn seeing through the façade like cheap cellophane. She felt his harsh glare on her as she continued to stare at her father expectantly. Risking a quick glance at her annoyingly perceptive boyfriend, she silently pleaded with him to leave the situation (and his speculations) be for now. He nodded once, and they both tuned back into the meeting.

"Agent Weiss?"

"Ditto for the Weiss-man," He answered, voice containing the same dejection Syd felt. "All the info I have to give would have to do with swim practice over break. Which sucks in itself."

"Actually," Her father countered, rising from his seat to stand behind his briefcase on the far end of his desk, "that's exactly the information we need."

'_Great. Even when he's not trying, he does better than me! How the hell does that work?'_

Vaughn, Dixon, and Marshall all sat up alertly, feeling another mini-mission approaching; Syd struggled to keep from rolling her eyes. Weiss looked about the room in confusion. "Huh? Me? You need information from _me?_ Are you sure about that?"

'_Yes. Are you really?'_

"Kendall recently contacted me and told me to set up a mission centering on whichever sport you were in."

'_Lovely.'_

"When's your last practice before Christmas?"

"Uh," Weiss stalled, probably not expecting to be called upon to actually remember something, "the day before, I believe. Is that Monday?"

"Alright. Here's the plan. Weiss, tell your coach as soon as possible that you can get a decorated, international swimmer to lecture everyone. Sydney, that's where you come in."

'_Perfect.'_

"You'll lecture the boys and teach them to hold their breath longer than they ever thought possible. Details on your alias will be delivered to you. They're more apt to listen to you than Vaughn," He added, answering the question that barely had time to form on her tongue.

'_Just great. Another meaningless distraction role. I bet the real reason I'm here is to get the boys so horny they can't see. I'm not here for my talents; I'm here to look pretty.'_

"Vaughn, you'll then thoroughly search the locker room for anything suspicious."

Her boyfriend nodded, and this time she really did roll her eyes. _'Since when does MY BOYFRIEND get a better part in a mission than I do? This is shit.'_

"If there's nothing else—" Jack gazed at each person in turn to verify this "—then that's all. We'll be in contact if anything happens. And tell Diane I said merry Christmas, Dixon."

Everyone began leaving, but despite her attempts at being first out the door, Syd gathered her belongings in time to exit with her boyfriend and his best friend. They walked through the halls and down the stairs toward Entrance A silently, Sydney wishing for the first time she had not hitched a ride with Vaughn. Finally Weiss said, "I can't believe Jack gave us a mission over break. And to think I was going to have fun."

Syd pulled her coat tighter around her neck as they stepped out into the cold. "You should know better than to plan anything."

"Yeah, you'd think I would've learned by now. I guess I'm just optimistic."

"Maybe someone should stamp that optimism out of you," She replied testily, quickly tiring of his high spirits.

His eyebrows knotted together in angry confusion, but before he could throw back his own retort, Vaughn ushered his girlfriend to the passenger side of his car and said, "I call you, Greg. Have a great holiday." He glared at Sydney pointedly as they both slid into his car. "What the hell is wrong with you?" He whispered sharply as soon as their doors clicked.

Tossing all of her packages and books in the backseat to mingle with his, she rubbed her numb hands together. "At least turn on the heat!" She exclaimed pointedly. Finding his keys, he turned the engine over and set the heat on high before patiently waiting for her to explain herself. Fanning her fingers in front of a vent, she chose her words carefully. "Do you know I haven't done a single thing to further this mission? Not even recon! Hell, I'd be ecstatic to get some recon right about now! Vaughn, I was an accessory for your mission._ An accessory._ How much does that suck? I want a mission of my own, where I can actually feel like I'm making a difference. Is that too much to ask?"

'_Now I've done it,'_ She thought repentantly, not daring to meet his eyes. _'Here come the lines: "You're doing great, Syd. Don't change a thing, Syd. You're making a difference, Syd. You really are—"'_

"Yeah, it does suck," He replied matter-of-factly, catching her so off guard that she looked up, and their gazes locked. "Our roles are switched, Syd," He continued, taking one of her hands in both of his. "I'm not used to it, either, and I'm not entirely sure I like it. But until something changes, we're going to have to deal with it. Give me pointers, if it makes you feel better about this. Just don't think you're the only one who's cursing your father and Weiss right now. Your father _will_ wake up, see his seething daughter, and actually use her for once." A small smile spread his lips. "Hey, who knows? Maybe one of your book club buddies is snorting coke on the side."

'That's_ the line I needed to hear.'_

"Maybe." She smiled sadly as she sat back in her seat. "Can you take me home now? I think your car's going to break under the weight of our presents."

"You bet."

"Oh, and Vaughn?"

"Yeah?"

"Merry early Christmas."

"Merry early Christmas to you, too."

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

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**_

**Chapter Twenty-Two:** Russian Dolls  
**Chapter Twenty-Three:** 'Tis the Season

The roll is a-goin' guys. The next chapter is a Plot Bunny-oriented chapter, and then we've got some seasonal fluff. Sorry this chapter's coming at the exact wrong time of year! It gives you an excuse to dust off the old Christmas records, though. Here's a thought to get you through: we're approaching the meat of the plot! Yay! I've worked really hard on it, so y'all better enjoy it. Just like I hope you enjoyed this! Feedback is appreciated, as is constructive criticism.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	22. Russian Dolls

**Everything's the same...**

**Chapter Genre:** mission funness with an angsty glaze

**This Chapter:** Yet another mini-mission where Syd gets ogled and Weiss almost faints

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Anthem of Our Dying Day" by Story of the Year, "My Happy Ending" by Avril Lavigne, "Meant to Live" by Switchfoot, and "Stacey's Mom" by Fountains of Wayne

**Author's Note:** I apologize in advance for the insane craptasticness of this chapter. It's necessary craptasticosity, but that doesn't make me feel any better about it. Again, I apologize. Sorry, guys, no Anne in this chapter (it just keeps getting better, doesn't it?), although she is mentioned once in passing. The next chapter will feature her in a prominent role. [claps hand over muse's mouth] I'm giving away too much! Start reading before I tell the whole plot!

**

* * *

**

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Russian Dolls**

"Jimmy Stuart's dead, right?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"Good."

"Good?"

"I'd shoot myself if he made 'It's a Wonderful Life: the Sequel'."

Syd rolled her eyes at Weiss as she passed around the back of the tree, trying to string the lights without tangling them at the same time. She ducked under Vaughn's arm as he slung the garland in the opposite direction, and they smiled at each other, not noticing the knot they created. It took Syd another pass to realize it, and she smacked her boyfriend for being oblivious. "If you hate it so much, why do you keep watching it?"

Eric sighed and pointed the remote at the television. "Channel two: 'It's Wonderful Life'. Channel five: 'It's Wonderful Life'. Channel seven: 'It's Wonderful Life'. Channel nine: 'It's Wonderful Life'. Channel eleven: some sciency crap that Anne's probably recording. There's nothing else to watch! One day, I'm going to run a wire up here from my house and get you some free cable."

"Good luck with that," She murmured.

"If there's nothing to watch," Vaughn suggested, tossing his friend a dirty look over his shoulder, "you could help us. Or, better yet, tell us why the hell you're here."

Sydney nodded her head agreement. Earlier that Saturday morning, she had called Vaughn and asked him to help her with the Christmas decorations, but mere minutes after her boyfriend arrived, Weiss pulled up right behind him, and slipped through the door before it even closed. At first, they thought it had something to do with the upcoming mini-mission, but as Eric immediately collapsed on the couch and flicked on the TV, Syd figured whatever he had to say could not have been too important. So she decided to tolerate his presence as long as he was not too troublesome or did not demand she provide snacks. But her boyfriend seemed less content to interrupt their first day of break, so when Weiss appealed to her, she merely shrugged and began battling the knots she and Vaughn managed to concoct.

The agent in question slumped in his seat and pouted melodramatically. "I was going to tell you about the mission tomorrow, but I can leave, if you want. I can tell when I'm not wanted."

"Weiss..." The couple warned in unison, pausing on opposite sides of the tree. "If you have information," Vaughn continued, tucking the rest of the garland on one branch of the artificial tree, "share it now, or I'll rescind my Christmas gift to you. The real one, not the water wings."

"That depends on what it is," He countered, sitting up with sudden interest.

"You know Diamonds?"

"The 'gentlemen's club' by the DuPage airport? Yeah! Why?"

"Think about it."

"Omigod! Okay, put down your crap and get over here." Syd smiled at her boyfriend — who winked confidentially — and both dropped their tasks to sit in front of him, cross-legged and staring up at their friend like first graders during story time. From literally behind his back he pulled a metal case and unlatched it facing them. Inside were three sets of equipment — presumably for each agent — nestled snugly in a bed of black foam. Looking over the top and down into the case, Eric sighed to himself and drummed his fingers on the sides before remarking, "How the hell did I graduate to handler? You should be the one doing this." He nodded to Vaughn, sweat breaking out on his forehead. "Care to take over? I made notes." He gestured to a thin packet of index cards haphazardly shoved in the lining of the briefcase. Vaughn shook his head slowly, the barest hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, while his girlfriend did not even try to suppress her amusement.

Eric muttered under his breath as he floundered around the sides of the case, fumbling with both his note cards and one of the foreign objects. Fed up, he moved the case to the cushion next to him and exhaled with finality. "Okay. First of all, you're Ava Vasquez," He began, directing his attention to Sydney while his eyes intermittently darted to the cards. "You're a twenty-year-old swimmer from a team in Argentina. You visited my school in Florida — Everglades High, to be exact—" He smiled proudly, forgetting that they, too, had memorized his cover's details "—during my sophomore year, and you're whole team's been doing talks around the U.S. to raise money. Oh, and you're single," He added nonchalantly. "Jack seemed to stress that fact very stringently. My diagnosis: Freudian slip.

"You, my friend," Eric continued, turning to Vaughn and tossing an index card over the back of the couch, "are nothing of importance. All you do is break into the locker room and check out everyone's stuff. Here's your op tech." He handed Vaughn a small plastic bag and a normal silver cell phone. The bag contained a slip of paper with a small flesh-colored bump and a molar covering. "Those comm. links are waterproof — not that it matters to you — and they'll connect you with us. Marshall will be monitoring the comms, but he'll only contact us if there's a problem."

"Hopefully," Vaughn mumbled under his breath, earning a poke in the side from Sydney.

Weiss handed Syd a similar baggie and pocketed one himself. "Just peel off the flesh-thingy and stick it in your ear. They're supposed to stick no matter what, but make sure that if you find yours floating in the deep end, puncture it with your nail and throw it away. Wouldn't want any poor teenagers hearing Vaughn's weak attempt at comm. link sex." Vaughn lunged towards his friend, but he expertly dodged away, not fazed in the slightest.

Sydney placed a calming hand on her boyfriend's knee, her eyes preoccupied with the cell phone on the floor in front of him. "What's that for?" She asked, referring to the object.

Vaughn, still wary of the other male agent, picked up the phone to inspect it while Weiss explained, "He has to loop the security camera feeds with that."

"There are security cameras in the swimming locker room?"

"I know. I don't get it either," He replied, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "The other locker rooms don't have squat. Even after the girls basketball team was robbed for all they were worth."

"Really? What happened? Did they ever catch the one who did it?"

"Excuse me, ladies, but my hair dryer's kaput," Vaughn interjected. The other agents both frowned at him. "Just how exactly am I supposed to loop with a cell and not a laptop?"

Eric fumbled in the case and finally tugged out a long black cord. "Plug this into the camera and then into the small output hole in the cell. When you've got a good loop, press '3-5-7' and move on to the next camera. This'll keep the loop going 'til you plug it in again and press '7-5-3' to restore the live feed. But the really cool thing about this baby is that it's also a drug sniffer, lock pick, and combination buster." He reclaimed the phone from his friend and pressed the 'on' button, and a short, plastic stick protruded — a lock pick. He retracted it, and instead pulled out the antenna, which popped off with a small click but remained attached by a thin cord. At the very tip, was a suction cup, and Eric stuck it to the pad of his index finger. "Just stick this anywhere on the lock, and it will give you the combination. If you retract the cord and detach this thing—" He fumbled with it for a bit before finally separating the plastic antenna from the cord "—you got yourself a Sniffer. And yes, that is the technical name; that's the only thing I didn't need to write down. Now stop laughing and let me finish. That's better. All you have to do is hold down 'one' and sweep the thingie over whatever you scan. But it can only penetrate through five inches of material, so if you want to search a duffel bag, you might have to open it up and dive right in."

Vaughn issued a low whistle as he reclaimed both the phone and the plastic wand. "Only five? Marshall's slacking off on the job."

Rolling his eyes, Eric flatly deadpanned, "He only had fifteen minute to whip this up. Believe me: he reminded me repeatedly." He turned back to the case and extracted a rubber swim cap and blue pair of goggles. "I figured you would want to hide your hair and eyes, seeing as any other attempt at a disguise would probably wash off. I got them from Marshall, and you better wear them: you have no idea how hard it was to find something unmodified in there. I was almost out of there when he realized the pair of goggles he gave me shot paralyzing lasers when you touch the sides. No thank you necessary."

"Thanks, Weiss," She chorused pleasantly, accepting her meek cover.

They paused for a time as they all took a moment to familiarize themselves with their equipment. Syd snuck a sidelong glance at her boyfriend, who was examining the mock cell phone. _She_ used to be the one with the strange, not-what-they-seemed operation technology! _He_ used to scramble the camera feeds while _she_ broke into whatever God-forsaken box she needed to. And now she was not even on camera detail; he had monopolized _that_ as well! She could not keep the venom of resentment from snaking through her veins and striking her heart like fangs. The bitter, metallic taste stung her tongue, but she had enough sense to keep her grimace internal. She knew she should continue to hold stock in what Vaughn said the day before, but...It was not that easy. She could not simply flick off her indignation and ignore her hurt pride any more than she could reconstruct her broken family. It just was not possible. So, for the time being, for the sake of the mission — and especially for her sanity — she would merely shove aside her feelings of malcontent and do what had to be done.

"By the way," Weiss said, interjecting into her thoughts harshly, "practice is tomorrow at nine. Go to Entrance E." He winced and held the briefcase before his face to protect him from flying fists and feet.

"What the hell, Eric!" Vaughn exclaimed standing up in indignation. "You said it was the day before Christmas, not tomorrow!"

"Coach cancelled that one 'cause too many people complained!" He replied, slightly muffled from behind his shield. "He was going to cancel this one, too, 'til I told him about Sydney! Nearly had a heart attack when I told him about her credentials, even though he has absolutely no idea who she is."

A surge of pride shot up her spine straight to her head, but it was not enough to banish her self-doubt. "Whatever. Are you done? We have some more decorating to do, and I think there's another 'It's a Wonderful Life' on in an hour," She said sharply, throwing her equipment onto the couch haphazardly. Vaughn took the hint and covered his girlfriend's hand with his own, squeezing it reassuringly.

Leaning towards her, he whispered into her ear, "You can play with my cell phone, if it'll make you feel better."

Peering at him hopefully she replied, "Really?"

Vaughn nodded into her hair while sounds of Weiss gagging floated in the background. He handed over the object before tugging his friend to the tree and forcing him to help decorate it. Weiss agreed, but only on the condition that someone pop in a better movie. So before Syd collapsed on the couch with Vaughn's op tech, she threw him her copy of "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring," thinking it would be long enough to shut him up.

* * *

Syd woke up early that next morning despite her muscles' protestations. Every fiber of her being called out for her to roll over, hug the pillow, and return to that nice dream about Vaughn and a beach in Cancun. But she rose anyway and donned her blue swimsuit with the Argentinean flag (she and Vaughn had spent the majority of the afternoon both researching and sewing it on), a pair of rip-away track pants, and a plain white long-sleeve shirt. Weiss was supposed to pick her up at about eight fifteen, so she gathered her belongings into a duffel bag and placed it by the front door along with her coat and fixed herself a small breakfast. Molding her hands to her coffee cup, she stared outside the window at the bleak scenery. Every branch on every tree and bush within sight was void of leaves, leaving the landscape barren and nearly desolate. She could practically see straight through the forest beyond the borders of her backyard if it were not for the sheer quantity of trunks and branches blocking the way. The sky was worse. The mottled grey clouds slid over one another, creating a kaleidoscope featuring the full spectrum of grey shades. It promised snow while the temperature suggested rain, but when either would fall was anyone's guess.

Her thoughts began to wander. Mini-missions...She decided she would like the term better if she were actually _involved_ in them. They unfolded as often as those Russian dolls, the ones that contained smaller and smaller dolls until the one uncapped the final doll to find a solid wood figurine the size of a thumb. Every time Jack deployed the agents, they thought it would be their last mission within a mission, but they were always wrong. In the depths of their objective lay another nugget, another opportunity to acquire information or humiliate someone or injure themselves. Somewhere in there, Sydney had gotten lost in the shuffle, stranded in the cold and left to merely peel back those layers, seeing the results secondhand instead of influencing the outcome. Despite all of her past complaining about the spy life and how she wanted no part of it, a small voice buried somewhere behind her compartmentalizer screamed that if she absolutely _had_ to live like this, she wanted a say in her own fate; she wanted it to end on _her_ terms. And so far that was not happening.

A horn honked from her driveway, and she downed the rest of her coffee before dashing out the door with her belongings in tow. Collapsing into the front seat with a sigh, she barely had time to buckle her seatbelt before Weiss sped down her driveway and onto the street. "What's up your ass today, Eric?" Syd asked, "Ooh, can we play Twenty Questions?"

"We're late," He answered tersely, taking a corner at thirty miles an hour. "Coach wanted to talk to you before practice, and we have to get you showered before the guys get in there."

Syd paled. "Can't we just pretend I took one already? I don't do communal showers."

"No, I don't mean _take a shower_," Weiss corrected exasperatedly. "I mean run under a shower head at fifty miles an hour to make it _look_ like you took a shower."

"Did the kids teach you that?" She asked, a hint of rebuke shining in her tone.

He glanced at her through the corner of his eye, his lips set in a slightly insulted sneer. "Are you kidding? _I_ taught _them_!"

She shrugged defensively and pulled out the plastic bag with her comm. link set. "Did you—" She began, extracting the sticky earpiece.

"Yup," He responded shortly. If she looked hard enough, she could see the small bump adhering to the skin nearest to his inner ear, a slightly darker shade than his natural colour.

She nodded placidly as she attached her own and fit the molar cap over her tooth. Piling her hair on top of her head, she snapped the rubber swim cap over her head and checked her reflection in the visor mirror. Those green contacts she popped in that morning definitely changed her look; all she had to do was be careful not to lose one in the water. _'Well, I'll just keep those goggles on the entire time, and if one happens to pop out, they'll think some girl lost it during a gym class,'_ She reassured herself as Weiss pulled into a parking space by Entrance E.

"Now," Weiss murmured, gathering his duffel from the trunk of his car, "the comms are set on a really low volume so that the water can't magnify the sound. That being said, Vaughn's probably going to compensate by talking really loudly, and everything echoes in those locker rooms, so you'll either have to make sure they're in the water when he talks, distract them, or tell him to shut up. I'd opt for the latter."

"Can't you do it?" She questioned quietly, ducking her head and pretending to look through her bag.

"Yeah, but I figured he'd actually listen to you."

"Point taken."

They entered the building through the only unlocked door — it was propped open by a scrap of wood — and Syd transformed yet again into her alias. Syd decided Ava Vasquez was flirty and tantalizing with fluid motions both in and out of the water. So, despite her soccer slides, she lengthened her stride and swung her hips enough to make any teenage boy look twice, if not three times. Weiss rolled his eyes as they reached the pool. He peeked into the locker room, making sure no one was in there before ushering her inside. Bashfully averting his eyes, he allowed her to strip off her track pants and shirt before running through the showers and donning the pants again. Weiss led her out onto the pool deck as she slipped on her goggles and began stretching her arms.

She felt Weiss tense beside her as two adults (one male, one female) stood up from their seats in the metal stands. As they made their way around the pool towards where the two agents stood by the starting blocks, she dropped her bag on a bench and slid off her sandals, stretching her legs and counting in Spanish as she went. They approached and the male immediately stuck out his hand. "Coach Cooke, but you can call me Brian."

'_I've won him over already and I haven't even said a word! Score!'_

"And this is Beth Straus, the diving coach." The woman offered her hand for a shake as well. "But you'll be working with just the swim team today. Do you understand? _Comprende?"_

"_Sí,"_ She answered, flashing a dimpled smile as she saw several faces clamoring for a view through the small window in the door to the hallway. "If you do not mind, I will swim a little first? Warm-up?"

Coach Cooke nodded vigorously as she slowly peeled off her pants and handed them to Weiss. She split off from the quartet to shoo away the boys in the hall, and Cooke scooted closer to Syd as she began windmilling her arms. The agent finally got a proper look at him as he stared out into the hall after his coaching partner. His dirty blonde hair and round face reminded her of Tressaut, but Cooke was huskier and taller and less..._strange_. He wore a blue sweater, beige corduroys, and a pair of circular, wire-rimmed glasses that reflected the eerie aqua-colored water shimmering in the pool lanes.

His eyes darted back to Sydney, and she averted her gaze, pretending to judge the length of those lanes. "How long? Half of regulation?" She questioned with a thick Argentinean accent. She was grateful she had been to the country recently on a mission. (Too bad 'recently' meant within the past year.)

Cooke nodded as she slipped into the water, making sure he caught a view of her from the back. "You speak English very well," He remarked, implying a question.

As Weiss never said she could not make up details she explained, "I trained in zee U.S. My personal trainer is American."

He nodded again, and she began to swim laps, hoping against hope she looked like a natural. It had been over a year since her last SD-6 water evaluation, and as the CIA only required its agents to know how to swim, and she had not had the opportunity to resharpen her skills on her own, she was afraid she had fallen out of practice. But as her arms threaded through the cool water like a needle through fine silk, she remembered why swimming tests were always her favourite (next to running, of course).

Boys began filtering onto the pool deck, some loitering around the lanes while others wandered to the opposite end of the pool and to the diving boards. The trickle died down, and everyone began stretching in unison before Coach Straus beckoned to her divers from the door. _'They must be doing weight training today,'_ Syd thought to herself as she flipped and pushed off the wall of the pool. _'Good. It's not like I need another six boys ogling me. Although it would be fun to see how embarrassed Weiss would get...'_

A whistle blew then, piercing even the solitude of the water, and she finished her lap before pulling herself out and grabbing her towel. She resurfaced just in time to hear a chorus of complaints. "But Coach!" One boy whined melodramatically. "It's Sunday! Isn't it against the law to practice on Sundays?"

She smiled into her towel. _'My thoughts exactly.'_

The coach merely shrugged. "I wanted to cancel, but Stone said today was the only day the lovely Miss Vasquez could join us." He smiled at her a little more widely than she should have. "Ava?"

Syd dropped the towel onto her bag and walked towards the small circle of about ten teenage boys. Putting a hand on her hip, she jutted out a leg sexily, feeling their eyes trace the water droplets as they cascaded down her legs. She knew she would have their absolute, undivided attention if she ditched the goggles and cap, but she also knew it was not worth the risk. Their absolute attention would have to do for now. _"Gracias,"_ She thanked, stunning the young coach with another dazzling grin. _"Hola. Me llamo Ava Vasquez. Soy de la Argentina, y yo soy un nadador."_ She paused, noticing only one Hispanic boy in front of her. Blushing slightly she translated, "Hello, my name is _Ava Vasquez_. I am from Argentina, and I am a swimmer." She heard a slight crackle in her ear as Weiss leaned over to whisper to another kid (Simon Leo — a senior tenor sax she recognized from band). _"¡Ai, chico! ¡Cállese!"_ He bit his lip and nodded vigorously, doing his part to act the lustful teen. Her smile was back as she turned to the group at large. "First, I believe you warm up like me? Brian?"

He stepped forward again and commanded their warm-ups — water aerobics to the music of Enya. When they were done, all ten boys (including Weiss) crowded around the spot where Sydney sat with her long legs dangling into the pool. Throughout the morning, she had been waiting for the telltale crackle in her ear to signify Vaughn's presence, and as she had yet to hear it, she decided to stall and keep her ingenious plan for later. Yesterday, right before Vaughn kicked Weiss out of the house, she informed the latter of her idea, and after a moment of hesitation, he agreed. But for the time being..."I need to see each boy separately. You — with blonde hair — you first. Two lengths; butterfly stroke."

"But I don't do—"

"I said go!"

Weiss tried to hide his snigger with the lip of the pool as the guy floundered through the water. Leaning over to another swimmer he whispered, "Told you she's a total hard-ass."

"Who cares?" The other muttered in response, his eyes never leaving her dangling legs. "She's hot!"

Her diaphragm shuddered with unshed laughter, but her demeanor remained flirtatiously professional. "Mister Stone," She called, voice echoing off the high ceiling as the unidentified student flipped and turned back towards them. Her friend stood up ramrod straight and nodded. With a hint of mixed amusement and sincerity she asked, "You boys shave, no?"

The laughter was deafening.

Eric's demeanor shrunk like a bag of chips in the microwave. "Not yet," He answered meekly. "We're supposed to the week before Regionals. It makes us swim faster."

"Head and legs as well?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good." Syd smiled to herself as she sent another boy to warm up. _'That should shut him up for a little while,'_ She added silently. After that, she had no other speed bumps with the teenaged boys (or their older counterpart), and most of them had warmed up before she heard the first crackling on the comm. link.

Vaughn's voice struggled through the initial static. "Boy Scout is entering the locker room. Are Band Geek and Chameleon in position? Band Geek, cough once for yes; Chameleon, sniffle." Syd and Weiss caught each other's gaze and responded covertly. She could practically hear him nod in response. "Copy that. Chameleon, keep the boys out of the locker room, 'cause I'm going to work. Cameras are looped and disabled, and I'm starting on the lockers. Oh, and Band Geek, don't make any trouble for her, all right?"

Syd struggled back her laughter as Weiss tried not to choke on his own tongue. Gathering the swim team around her, she slid into the pool, allowing herself to giggle at the way the boys' eyes bulged. "Warm up over."

One skinny boy half-heartedly raised his hand. "But not everyone got to warm up with you—"

"No matter; is okay. Come, come," She demanded, circling the wagons closer. Silence began to fall, and she rapidly cast around her mind for an exercise that would keep all of them busy and _out_ of the locker room. "Grab a partner. One hold feet and other swim. Works arms. Stone! We will demonstrate." The other boys groaned sadly as Weiss gripped her ankles and she proceeded to do every stroke imaginable without moving her legs. When she stopped, she assigned each of the pairs a lane (a few of the pairs had to share), and she posted herself on the edge in the middle of the first lane, dabbing at her face with a school-provided towel.

"Why did I get stuck with this job?" Vaughn yelled in her ear, so loud she thought she could hear his real voice coming from the locker room. "All these lockers smell like dead cat. I wouldn't be surprised if there was one hidden under all these moldy clothes. Don't these kids ever take them home? Or air them out?"

"Hey, Mister Delicate Flower?" She whispered into the towel. "Care to keep it down? These high ceilings aren't the best for acoustics."

"Huh?"

"Right now, I don't need the comm. to hear you."

"Oh. Sorry. Where's Band Geek?"

She glanced up from her feet and looked to the middle lane where Weiss and Simon Leo were attempting the exercise. "Splashing around like a drowning duck. It's actually very comical. I should've brought a camera."

"All those great blackmail pictures lost!" He cried in jest. "I'm not finding anything, Syd. I think this is going to end up a giant waste of time."

'_Serves you all right for not letting me do anything.'_ "What do you want — SWITCH! — me to do about it?"

The boys righted themselves and switched places as Vaughn paused in thought. "Continue with whatever exercise you've got now. If you can think of something else, do that one too. But within the next half-hour or so, start teaching them your breathing technique. Weiss — you listening? — faint about halfway in and make Syd escort you to the locker room _without_ the coach. Then you two can help me search."

'_Goddamn it! He even steals my ideas! What the hell!'_ "Copy that. Any suggestions? 'Cause I'm fresh out of exercises."

"Just lecture about wakes and drag and the like," Her boyfriend sighed, sounding slightly preoccupied. "Who said you actually had to _do_ something?"

'_My thoughts exactly.'_ "Gotcha. Thanks, Vaughn." She threw the towel aside and whistled to call a halt to their exercises. Hopping into the water, Syd gathered the swim team to her yet again. "Next," She declared, reprising her accent, "you listen while I talk. Talk about placement in lane." She continued to teach the boys about the importance of either staying in the centre of the lane or riding a neighbour's wake, all the while listening to Vaughn talk to himself through her earpiece. ("I'm not finding anything...I'm so _bored_!...I'm about to start singing show tunes...Oh! I think I found something! Oh, no, it was just baby powder. Why the hell does this guy have _baby powder?_ Take that back; I _don't_ want to know...")

Not for the first time, she wanted to strangle him.

The time eventually came (not soon enough) for her to start the breathing program — the boys' eyelids began drooping amusingly, and she decided they had enough torture for one Sunday. She began going through a crash course of what they taught her in SD-6 water training: expanding one's lungs repeatedly, slowing heart rate, et cetera. True to plan, Eric began feeling faint halfway through the second time they tested their lung capacities, and Syd convinced the coach she could take care of him in the locker room. With one of his arms slung heavily about her shoulders, she helped him into the adjoining room.

As soon as the wooden door slammed closed, they separated and began zigzagging around benches and rows of lockers and leaping over bags and — _'ew'_ — clothes. Resting her goggles on her forehead, Syd rounded another corner with Weiss and practically collided with their fellow agent. He was fervently focusing on picking the lock of a random locker, and without even looking up, he pointed to a black duffel bag resting under a water fountain. "Plastic gloves in there," He mumbled, grunting triumphantly as the lock clicked open.

The pair slipped on the items and began searching bags and backpacks that were already on the floor. Syd stared at the contents of one Nike duffel in disgust. "This is amazing. How do these kids survive this stuff?"

"Yeah," Weiss agreed, holding a gym shoe at arm's length. "Who needs to snort crack when you can sniff something as ripe as this? I'm getting high and I'm not even trying."

"You really get used to it after a while," Vaughn stated, relocking that cubicle and moving on to another. They hurriedly continued for a time, anxious to accomplish as much as they could in that short window of time. Syd easily saw how Vaughn could have gotten so frustrated so soon: all she ever found were dirty clothes, dirty magazines, and condoms. None of the others were successful either, and as they approached the last line of lockers (and the close of their perceived window of opportunity), their perseverance and heart waned dramatically.

"Do you really think there's anything worth looking at over there?" Weiss murmured tiredly, trying to conceal his shivering. "Everything's been a dud so far."

"I agree," Vaughn chimed in. "Why should we even bother?"

Syd shrugged indifferently, also attempting to warm her chilled skin. "You never know. Come on, guys, let's at least try." She glared at them as she began searching open lockers. How could they let such an opportunity go by only half-explored? How could they pass up the chance to nail one of these guys while they were not looking? She needed to see if there was any pertinent information; she needed to search those lockers, if not for the mission, then for her peace of mind.

Sighing in resignation, her fellow agents agreed, stepping over the low wooden bench to join her.

Almost immediately Vaughn found something. Calling them over, he extracted a small, faded blue duffel bag. On one side was a picture of the school's mascot and the words 'Wildcat ...ball'. The first few letters of the second word were missing, piquing Sydney's interest, but she said nothing. Vaughn unzipped the bag, removed a few curiously clean clothes, and gasped. There, hidden in the bottom, was half a pound of bagged crack, three bent spoons, one hypodermic needle, a lighter, and another baggie filled with dried and shredded marijuana leaf. All three agents crowded around to take a look.

"Great job, Mikey," Weiss congratulated, slapping his friend on the back. "Way to be."

"Yeah, nice job," Syd grunted, struggling not to roll her eyes.

Her boyfriend blushed as he replaced the clothes and zipped the bag again. Ignoring both the real and faux complements he suggested, "We better get this to Marshall and Jack for analysis. Is there any way you two could leave practice early?"

Glancing at her for confirmation, Weiss nodded and replied, "Ava could have an emergency and I have to drive her to the airport. Coach won't be too happy, but if you tell him, Syd, I'm positive he'll let us go. 'Brian' has taken quite a liking to our wholesome Sydney Bristow." He winked, and this time she did roll her eyes.

Vaughn frowned heavily as he packed up all but the camera device. "Just as long as his hands don't come anywhere _near_ her, we're okay."

'_And apparently I'm invisible. Hello! Does anyone see me? The tall, shaking Spanish woman in the corner who's probably busy catching pneumonia? Anyone care to listen to what she has to say?'_ "Let's go. Before someone catches us." She pulled Weiss out the door with her, leaving Vaughn to clean up on his own.

Syd easily convinced Coach Cooke, they needed to leave, and mere minutes afterwards, she and Eric were sprinting through the below-freezing temperatures to his car, desperately trying not to completely freeze every exposed patch of skin. As soon as the engine turned over, she saw Vaughn's car peel down the street in the direction of the Angers safe house. Safely assuming Vaughn already called the other undercover agents, she instructed Eric to follow.

They dropped off the mystery duffel bag with Marshall without a fuss — he was veritably giddy to finally micro analyze something and not just listen to debriefs. _('Another agent gets to do his job while the notorious Sydney Bristow does nothing. Great!')_ Weiss dropped Syd off at her house and made a hasty retreat, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

As she trudged into her house only to face the cheery sight of a fully decorated Christmas tree, her anger strengthened: all she wanted to do was kick over that tree. Why was everyone special but her? She was tired of being just another pretty face, eye candy for the hormonal children while the stereotypical men did all the work. She was tired of it, and she was not going to take it anymore.

Successfully ignoring the joyful tree, she collapsed on the couch to draw up her own mission.

To do this, she had to think along the line of Kendall and her father.

Now, what would annoy her the most?

A sport.

What sport did she hate the most?

Not track, obviously, or cross-country.

Aha!

She would join the softball team.

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

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**_

**Chapter Twenty-Three:** 'Tis the Season  
**Chapter Twenty-Four:** Finals

Anyone left? [tumbleweed blows by] That's what I thought. I'll let you write your hate mail and flaming reviews. But I'm warning you, if burning poo is flung at my door, I have people that will track you down.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	23. Tis the Season

**Nothing's different...Including my sanity level (-47)...**

**Chapter Genre:** Fluffy angst with a plotty frosting. Is there ever anything else?

**This Chapter:** Caroling with teens, inappropriate snow angels, stories, and a pool game gone wrong; Christmas morning with the agents; a New Year's Eve with more strangeness; and Syd furthers her mini-mission

**Suggested Soundtrack:** Whip out any Christmas music you own, but I'm suggesting these songs again: "Opera of the Bells" by Destiny's Child, "Santa Baby" by Eartha Kitt, "All I Want For Christmas is You" by Mariah Carey, "O Holy Night" by Celine Dion, "Christmas Wrapping" by the Waitresses, and "Double Trouble" off the _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ soundtrack.

**Author's Note:** It's a happy chapter. Really. Well, as happy Anne allows. Enjoy!

**

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**

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: 'Tis the Season**

"Oh, the weather outside is frightful—"

"You wish. It's dead out there."

"—But the fire is so delightful—"

"Fire? Where's the fire?"

"—As long as you love me so—"

"Hey, I never said _that_..."

"—Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!"

"Or not, or not, or not!"

"Alright, that's it! Gregory Stone, your ass is grass!"

"Let's see if you can find it under all that snow outside."

"STONE!"

Sydney laughed along with the rest as Anne and Weiss tripped over people and chairs, each trying to navigate the twists and turns of Joe Hall's house as Mrs. Hall yelled after them. Vaughn subconsciously wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer, making her smile. The three student agents were at Joe's house for his annual patented Caroling Party. Almost all of their friends were there (Caty Wagner was sick; Summer's mother did not like the idea; and Dani wanted to hang out with her freshman friends), and so were a lot of older people she did not know. When Syd and Vaughn arrived and had given their grab bag gifts to Mrs. Hall, Anne took her aside and subtly pointed out each of them — or at least the ones she knew.

Besides Ben East, Malissa Kinils, Nick Page, Rick Cheer, Will Gunn, Hos Potter, and Sarah Neumann, Anne gleefully introduced past band members as well.

Charity Hall, Joe and Allyson's older sister who played the flute/piccolo.

Buck Haley, trumpet player and former drum major.

Adam No-Last-Name, another trumpet player who nearly matched Anne's volume.

Allie Sirot, another former drum major and flute/piccolo player.

Pam Carmine, clarinet player and Katie's 'evil cohort'.

Penelope Trice, flute/piccolo player and 'shortest person to ever wear a We-Go uniform', including Anne and Dani.

And a few others that Anne still did not know, nor cared to know.

The majority of the group groaned as Mrs. Hall turned off the television and the football players on the screen faded to blackness. "Alright, alright," She said, ignoring the complaints. "Get up and get out of here before I throw away the food I'm making."

After that, everyone shot up from their seats clustered around the small television set, bundled up for the below-freezing temperatures, and filed out the door. In the one day since the swimming mini-mission, it had managed to snow a good three inches. Syd literally screamed that morning when she woke up to find the brown grass nearly covered with white. As large flakes the size of quarters floated aimlessly to the ground, she called Vaughn and screamed some more while he merely laughed at her on the other end. Anne then interrupted their conversation with her own joyous exclamations, and consequently asked if she had ever seen snow. Of course _Sydney_ had, but _Jane_ had not, and when Syd told her friend that never before had she even left California, Anne feigned a heart attack and proceeded to list all the equipment she would need to fully enjoy the new experience. And now that she stood outside some stranger's house on the unshoveled sidewalk in borrowed boots, mittens, a hat, and coat while clustered with Vaughn, Weiss, Henry, and John Motz around a single sheet of lyrics illuminated by Anne's flashlight and singing so off-key she was surprised glass was not shattering...She realized she would not trade this experience for the world.

And so they trooped around the Halls' subdivision performing classics ranging from "Santa Claus is Coming to Town" to "Jingle Bells (The Batman Version)." True to word, Joe and John Motz sculpted rude snow "angels" in the lawns of those who did not answer the door but had lights on inside. At their last stop, the three Hall siblings arranged the large party into a rough simulation of a choir, and the twins poised in front like conductors while Charity and Adam ran up the lawn to ring the doorbell. Anne smiled, nudged Syd in the ribs (through three layers of clothing), and quietly instructed her to follow their lead. The door opened, and the twins began floppily conducting their friends a sloppy and lisped version of "We Wisth You a Merry Christhmasth." Both students and family laughed upon the conclusion, shaken fists were exchanged, and they trudged back to the Hall household amid a new batch of snowflakes falling from the dark sky.

Mrs. Hall made them linger in front of her well-illuminated house for a few more minutes while she took pictures from a seemingly endless cache of cameras. Before too long, the stamping and complaining become overwhelming, and Mrs. Hall relented, letting them fight their way into the warm, dry house. Every type of outerwear imaginable littered that entryway when the dust (or snow) finally settled, and a long line still stretched into that entryway from the kitchen.

Syd's nose and cheeks burned from the wind, but she could still smell the wonderful aroma of lasagna, mostaccioli, hot chocolate, cider, pasta salad, garlic bread, and cookies. Anne called up her order to Syd while she went to grab them seats at the small kitchen table before the college students claimed them. Vaughn sat first, his plate loaded with mosticcioli and cookies, and Sydney collapsed next to him and across from Anne. The spaces filled around them as loud students conversed around bits of food. When Henry approached, wanting a seat, Vaughn pulled Sydney from hers and replanted her on his lap, eliciting a stifled giggle from Anne. Then Weiss thundered up, dropped his plate in front of Anne, and promptly sat down squarely on her lap.

Syd was reminded of Halloween night and the Dogpile to End All Dogpiles. She discretely held Henry in his seat.

"Stone!" Anne warned, slightly muffled from behind Weiss's bulky form. "If you don't get your ass off me now, so help me God..."

"Hey, it's almost Christmas!" He countered, appealing more to the agents across the table than the girl beneath him. "Don't take the Lord's name in vain; you just might get smited."

All the former and current band members nearly spit out their food with unexpected laughter; Weiss shook as Anne guffawed. Syd continued to smile falsely, not really understanding the obviously inside joke. As if sensing her friend's internal consternation, Anne renewed her efforts to free herself. "If this big ugly mass of humanity would just _move_—" A heave, but Weiss did not budge "—I could tell you the story. Otherwise Henry'll have to tell it."

"Ah, we'll suffer through Henry's version of events," Weiss responded with a blasé wave of the hand. Suddenly his eyes bulged, and he fell over onto the floor, revealing a grinning Anne. She must have kneed him in the groin.

The room burst into hysterics as Anne blushed and waved at them all. "Hey Henry," She began fondly, "remember when we went to Angers College for a clinic, and we made fun of the hymns in the hymn books in the chapel? Remember all the smiting then?"

"It rain/snowed to and from lunch; I lost a drum stick; the food was horrible; my burrito leaked on me; the ice cream machine practically blew up on you; and your flute was perpetually out of tune. Yeah I'd call that smiting," Henry replied, a piece of garlic bred slightly hampering him. Swallowing hard, he turned to the room at large and said loudly, "Remember band camp our freshman year?"

Another round of laughing. Allie Sirot stood up at attention and clapped like the drum major she once was. "Band, ten-hut!"

"GO _(home_)!"

"Band, horns hup!"

"HUP _(yours)_!"

The laughter spread again, and this time the agents joined in, although Syd believed one had to be there to fully understand the joke. This set off a lengthy and increasingly ludicrous bout of 'remember when's, and even though she knew not of what they spoke, her sides, lungs, and head ached by the time the stories were spent.

"Remember when we sight-read 'Sampson and Delilah' and Guter did the veil dance for inspiration?"

"I was in the front row — it was _very_ disturbing."

"Remember when Guter imitated 'that gay pirate from that one movie'?"

"No, 'cause I was in Chicago on a field trip! I can't believe I missed that just for some stupid paintings and a two-hour lunch."

"Remember when we marched through that abandoned lot in the middle of St. Louis?"

"Yeah, and we counted only three pedestrians on a _Saturday morning_."

"Remember when Guter told his Napoleon's tomb story for the first time?"

"No."

"No."

"No."

"There was a first time?"

"There was a _last_ time?"

"Remember when Fernando Chico was Head Drum Major?"

All the girls giggled shamelessly, and Weiss poked his head over the edge of the table to address Anne. "Who's Eddie?" Syd clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle an incredulous laugh. Now Weiss was jealous of a _memory_! Vaughn squeezed her around the waist, noticing the same thing.

Anne bit her lip and rolled her eyes. "Fernando Chico was not only Head Drum Major of the Glenfield High School Marching Band and first chair alto saxophone player, but he was _the_ hottest male to even _think_ about joining this band in _ever_. He even gives Michael a run for his money." A few other girls nodded as well. Syd vaguely remembered Anne pointing out an extremely good-looking Hispanic male dressed in an out-dated, all-white drum major's uniform. She also remembered passively wondering what he looked like now.

Weiss scoffed and stole a cookie from Anne's plate. "What does that make me? Chopped liver?"

"Yes," She answered without hesitation or any sign of humour. He growled and tackled her off the chair, spilling the hot chocolate she was drinking down her front. Syd stood up quickly, ready to admonish her fellow agent for his childishness, but Anne's signature singular loud "HA!" followed by quieter giggles (coupled with Vaughn's grip) sat her back down.

The room's attention began to break up into smaller groups, and everyone returned to their meals. Weiss regained his composure first and claimed Anne's seat, but instead of challenging him again, she merely hugged him (effectively both drying her shirt and wetting his) and plopped down onto his lap, imitating Syd and Vaughn. Mrs. Hall gave her paper towels for the mess and even poured her another hot chocolate, but Syd doubted the teenage girl was still cold. As a gesture of apology, Weiss also lent her a sweatshirt he had shed after they trooped back inside after caroling.

Syd continued to pick at the food — she had not been that hungry to begin with — while keeping one eye on her friends across the table and the other on the hand inching up her thigh. It slipped two fingers into her belt loop, and she leaned back into her boyfriend, her head resting on his shoulder. Hiding her mouth with a cup of hot cider, she whispered into his ear, "I think I'm psychic."

Still maintaining his accent he responded, "Why?"

"'Cause I'm seeing the future."

"You've finally caved on the six thousand kids thing?"

"Nice try," She countered, sipping the scalding liquid and letting her tongue cool for a moment. "Remember Thanksgiving—"

"I'm not going to take back what I said."

"—I know. But I'm changing what _I_ said." Forgetting for a moment where he was, Vaughn recoiled in puzzlement, eyebrows knotted like a sailor's practice rope. She held his gaze as she explained, "I still want to live with you. But I meant about entertaining our friends. Formal gatherings have their place, but this is _so_ much more fun."

"So, if I understand what you're saying," He drawled slowly, pulling her closer again, chin resting on her shoulder, "you're giving me permission to invite over crazy, rowdy males to drink beer, eat messy food, and make sexual jokes?"

"I'm not giving you _permission_ to do anything," She retorted innocently. "I'm saying if you don't invite over crazy, rowdy _people_ to just veg, I'll do it."

"Please don't tell me you just said 'veg'," Anne admonished from across the table. Both agents looked up, unable to rein in twin looks of horror. She laughed again as she gingerly fished a small marshmallow from her drink. "Don't worry, I only heard the one word; I have selective hearing. At least, that's what my mom says."

"Yer mom's — Oh. Never mind," Weiss trailed off, his awful attempt at humour earning him a gentle slap from the student on his lap.

"Continue," Anne commanded, waving her hand at the two of them. "I'll keep Joke Boy occupied." Positively swimming in Weiss's sweatshirt, she tried to return to the cool meal in front of her, but he kept poking her at the most inopportune moments, making her jump and squeal angrily.

Syd's stomach began that strange flip-flopping, boat-in-the-middle-of-a-storm movement it had been doing of late, ever since she saw the two of them in the alcove by the pool during the infamous whore-ific indoor band practice. There was no use in analyzing it yet again, because she would come to the same conclusion. Right?

Wrong. When she told Vaughn she wanted to do some informal entertaining, the first names on her mental guest list were Anne and Weiss — and those names appeared _together_, practically one word. What did that mean? Was she turning the corner in terms of accepting...whatever it was they had?

Another Olympic-caliber flip.

Whatever. This was a party — a _Christmas_ party — and she did not want to bring down her mood by actually _thinking_ about something important.

A familiar finger poked her repeatedly in her side, attempting to garner her attention. She frowned harshly and set down her empty Styrofoam cup. Turning to her boyfriend she demanded. "What the hell are you doing? Feeling up my kidneys?"

"Just in case," He replied defensively, handing their empty plates to Charity Hall and the already overflowing garbage can. Nodding towards the two across from them he remarked, "Zey are cute, no?"

She offered a half-smile, not quite sure how much of her inner tumult to divulge at this time. "Yeah, they are."

Their conversation was cut short by a loud roar of approval from the rest of the room as the entire Hall family carried in the multitude of grab-bag gifts. This was the favourite tradition of these students, according to Anne. The rules were simple enough: under fifteen dollars; no CDs or DVDs or gift certificates; and _be original_. Anne had suggested taking a trip to Spencer's and gravitating towards the weirdest things on display. Syd tried, but all she came up with was a fluffy pink Hello Kitty diary.

They drew numbers from a hat and the event was underway. When all was said and done, Syd ended up with Anne's Playdough; Vaughn traded an inflatable pillow for an annoying air gun; Anne traded a bag of Hershey kisses for the coveted game of Cranium; and Weiss successfully maintained the equally-desired Book of Dirty Jokes, obviously from Spencer's.

As soon as the last gift left the pool table, Anne gathered her friends around the kitchen table and broke open her new game amid squeals of excitement. Apparently, the game had been all the craze last year, and since one of them had actually managed to _keep_ it this year (Anne was still sore about that), everyone was anxious to play. After dividing into three teams of four and one of three (Anne said Weiss counted as two people, earning her a small chase around the room), they began to play the game. Never before had Sydney found playing a board game so entertaining; seeing four males — Weiss, Vaughn, Henry, and Mike Holcomb — trying to act out Marilyn Monroe without talking might have made her top five Funniest Moments List. She aced all the word questions and even made everyone laugh while acting out 'missionary'.

She and Anne were on opposing teams, which Syd vowed would never happen again — the girl's fiery sense of competition and loud mouth were a lethal combination. The teenager must have been an intimidating, formidable opponent when she played softball. Speaking of which...

Anne's team of Henry, Abby, John Motz, and herself won handily, and by this time the rest of the party had begun to wind down. Charity's friends took a trip to a restaurant nearby, and the underclassmen left before their state-mandated curfew of eleven thirty expired. So they packed up the game and moved on to the pool table, where Joe organized a game of four girls against four boys. Anne broke, and they began amidst Mrs. Hall and Charity cleaning up around them.

"So what are y'all doin' after Christmas?" Anne asked no one in particular, leaning on her pool cue and concentrating on the colored balls. "The snowball fight still on? Or football in the pond?"

Katie Goode shook her head from her seat on the couch. "Nah. I'm at my Dad's for Christmas, and you know that park attracts all the kids in the area."

"Damn. How 'bout you, Jane?" Anne lined up her shot while still addressing her friend. "What're you doing after Christmas?"

Syd swallowed hard and rubbed the tip of her cue with a chalk block. "Oh, I don't know. I was thinking of maybe going to an open gym before New Year's."

"For what?"

"Oh, ah, well, for softball."

The room fell silent, and Syd even thought she saw the other students back away slightly.

Anne had been circling the table to calculate her next shot, and her step hitched as if she caught her toe on the edge of the carpet, but she continued on and made the shot but did not sink the ball. "Oh really?" She said, tone dangerously calm and smooth. It trembled with a note of hidden rage, like a chameleon on a branch, and only a trained eye could have detected it. Weiss and Vaughn took another step back. "Despite everything I've said? Well, have fun with all the hatred and animosity. I'm sure you'll love it." Her anger slowly seeped out in the form of scathing sarcasm, making Syd cringe internally.

"Anne, please—"

"No!" She cried, the pool game completely forgotten. "I can't believe you'd even consider — You _know_ how I feel about them! They're horrible people, Jane, horrible people. The things they've done — you wouldn't believe it."

'_Somehow, I don't think it can be as bad as you think.'_

"I can't — They — They — They hurt me! And you're just going and — doing — Whatever. Look, you can go and join the team and do whatever the hell you want, but don't come cryin' to me when they fuck with you. 'Cause I don't want to hear it." With that, she tossed her cue to Joe (who caught it with minimal fumbling), shed Weiss's sweatshirt, and grabbed her belongings from the ledge next to the couch. "I'm out. My curfew's in a half hour. Merry Christmas." She breezed out of the house with a brief thank-you to Mrs. Hall in the basement, where she had conveniently retreated to upon the awkward silence.

Syd bit her lip and toed a loose carpet string. She knew Anne did not favour softball much, but she did not know her friend would have such a violent reaction to the news. Anne's vehement disapproval hit Sydney hard, sinking her stomach to her shoes like an eight ball in the corner pocket. She was almost positive that if she joined the softball team, Anne would never talk to her again. And this presented an interesting conundrum for Sydney. The decision to play was her attempt at involving herself in this mission, something she desperately wanted. And with Anne out of the way, maybe she could—

What was she thinking? Above everything, Anne was her friend, the first person to befriend them in their new environment. Syd did not want to lose that. She remembered the atmosphere after the EWE Party.

But still...

"Hey, don't take it heart," Katie whispered, cutting her thoughts short. "She does that every time someone even _mentions_ softball. Loves baseball, hates the softball team. Don't understand _why—"_

"You mean, you've never _asked_ her?" Sydney asked, spinning around incredulously.

"Are you kidding?" Ruth answered, taking up Anne's vacated spot on the team. "You saw her reaction. Imagine that in full force."

"No thanks."

**

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**

"It's Christmas morning! It's Christmas morning! Come on, you two: get up! Don't make me start singing 'Reveille'. Or 'Jingle Bells'."

"Vaughn...That's Weiss, isn't it?"

"Mm-hmm. Put your pillow over your head. It's very effective."

"Why does he always do this? Make him go away."

"Weiss, just five minutes. Please. I'll pay you whatever you want, just...let us sleep 'til at least nine, okay? It's probably not even eight yet."

"Oh, try again, buddy. It's not even seven. But Santa came last night, and there're presents under the tree, and there's a _really_ big one with my name on it, and I _really, really_ wanna open them now. ?"

"Oh alright. How the hell does he keep getting in here?"

"I don't know, but I think you might want to invest in that security system you've been talking about."

"And dogs. Dogs would be nice. Maybe pit-bulls."

"Nah, they're scaredy-cats. Just look at Donovan."

"Good point." Syd blinked languidly and clutched at the warm covers as Vaughn slid out of the bed beside her. Her gaze traveled to the door where Weiss stood in a bathrobe covering jeans and a t-shirt, his eyes blocked by both his hands. She snorted sleepily as she turned back the covers. "Weiss, you can open you eyes; we're both clothed." She swore sharply as her bare feet hit the cold carpet. Vaughn's feet appeared in her line of vision, and she traveled up his body to his arms, which held out an invitingly warm robe. Grabbing both that and a pair of slippers, she followed the men down the hallway to the family room and the artificial tree.

The night before, both Syd and Vaughn stole out of the room at different times to plant their packages under the tree. She was glad they anticipated Weiss and put out his gifts as well; otherwise, she was sure he would have done a lot worse than just waking them up that morning.

She sat on the couch while Weiss sorted the small mountain of presents, gleefully reminding them that the large package not able to fit under the tree was addressed to him. The couple shared a knowing look but said nothing. As luck would have it, that obscenely large gift was the only joke present of the bunch: Syd and Vaughn had fit boxes inside other boxes and taped weights to the corners to make it seem like a legitimate gift. When he finally plowed through ten boxes and five pounds of tissue paper, bubble wrap, and packing peanuts, he was angry to find only a five-dollar gift certificate to Sam Goody. He threatened to rescind their gifts on the grounds that "nothing can be bought at Sam Goody for five bucks! NOTHING!"

They spent the morning opening presents from both friends and family (the CIA had wired gifts from Francie, Will, and Mrs. Vaughn to Jack's house, and Weiss picked them up the day before) while watching such classic animated shorts as "Suzie Snowflake" and "Hard Rock, Cocoa, and Joe". When Weiss discovered the annual Disney parade, he nearly fainted and sat on the floor, glued to the television set for its entire duration. Sydney and Vaughn paid him no heed after that; they spent their time in the kitchen, trying their hand at a modest, traditional meal.

The closest they came were ham and cheese hot pockets.

Sydney prayed for not another repeat of Thanksgiving, and her wish was granted in more ways than one. Jack and Marshall limited their yuletide cheer to phone calls, Marshall's considerably more lengthy than her father's. (And more clumsy; he wished her a happy different holiday every time he spoke.) As aforementioned, the food was scaled back to the palate of a poor college student; none of them really wanted to spend time in the kitchen — but when yet another re-run of "It's a Wonderful Life" flashed on the screen, Weiss thought twice.

The only major difference Syd lamented was the absence of Anne's phone call. Yes, both Vaughn's and Weiss's cell phones showed her name on the caller I.D., but Syd's never rang once. She went so far as to slide it into the pocket of her robe and even set in on vibrate, just in case she did not hear it ring. Vaughn sensed her immense disappointment but said nothing, only slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her a little bit closer.

Surprisingly, he had not said a word to Syd about her decision to join the softball team. Considering he had no role in her objective or its construction, he was abnormally calm and collected. She would have thought at least a 'good job' or 'you're a nutcase' was warranted, but she garnered no reaction. A voice in the back of her head told her to bring up the topic again, see if he showed any tells before his own compartmentalizer kicked in. They did not even talk about Anne's reaction to the news! She wondered if he (or Weiss, for that matter) had told her father after Joe's Caroling Party.

Syd let the subject slide for the moment, however, and let Christmas pass without confrontation. (She always kept her slightly unorganized and unplanned mini-mission in the back of her mind, however.) At the last minute, the three student/agents were invited to John Motz's New Year's Eve Party.

When he called the day before, John asked nervously if it was all right that he invited Anne as well. When she asked why not, he stammered something unintelligible and hung up. She tried asking Vaughn and Weiss, but each of them only shrugged and told her to move out of the way; Weiss was trying to hook up the cable.

So Weiss picked both of them up on New Year's Eve and whisked them away to John's house. They arrived fashionably late and parked awkwardly on the curb of the cul-de-sac and just walked into the house without ringing the doorbell. Their attention was immediately drawn to the living room off to the left where John and Henry were trying to force Anne to wear an overzealously decorated themed tiara. Henry had her in a headlock while John tried to tie it to her squirming head; Abby, Mike, and Ruth merely stood by a couch and laughed. Anne, finally fed up, grabbed Henry's legs at the knees and flipped him, carrying both of them to the floor. But he lost his grip, and she rolled to the side, taking out John in the process. Henry tried to get up, but Anne expertly placed her elbow at the delicate flesh of his throat. "Try...that...again...and die," She warned, breathing heavily. Somehow John managed to move up behind her and, without warning, jammed the tiara on her head and ran. She leapt up and chased after him yelling, "Goddamn it, John!"

He darted through Syd and Vaughn with a short word of greeting, but when Anne made to follow, she stopped abruptly and nodded at the three newcomers. "Come on in. Y'all are the last people; everyone else is at Angie's party. Let's go downstairs and play ping-pong. And no Ultimate Whipping Ping-Pong, Henry. You remember how bruised we got last time." She helped Henry off the floor (much to Weiss's chagrin), tossed three plastic top hats to the new arrivals, reclaimed her own from the floor, and threw the tiara at Henry's face before hiding behind Mike on their way through the kitchen to the basement.

'_So this is why John was loathe to ask us to the party,'_ She thought to herself as she fit the hat on her head. It was too small, so she grabbed Anne's discarded tiara. _'The awkwardness is slightly stifling. But these guys are the best avoiders there are. Why did he invite me if he knew it was going to make things awkward? Unless—'_

"Hey Jane?" Anne had hung back from the group and pulled Syd aside before she went downstairs. Syd stopped and slowly turned to face the shorter teenager, shutting the door just in case. Anne toed a crack in the tile floor for a moment, gathering her thoughts. Snapping her head up, she said smoothly, "About Joe's party — I'm sorry. I shouldn't've jumped down your throat like that."

"Yeah, you shouldn't have. But...whatever. It's cool." Syd smiled internally; she _definitely_ sounded like a teenager. She reached for the doorknob again, but Anne stopped her.

"But I still don't want you to join." Her eyes were so earnest and so compelling that Sydney felt herself drawn in, mesmerized, spellbound. Syd waited expectantly for what she had to say. "I meant what I said. They do things you wouldn't even believe. There are _people_ there I _know_ you won't like." Anne peered up at her pointedly. "I just—" Her hands fiddled with themselves nervously, trying to pull her words out of her sleeves "—I don't want to see you get hurt by their lies. Playing the game...it's just not worth it with them. And believe me, it takes a lot to turn me off to something I love so dearly." Anne took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Well, now that that's over with, let's go downstairs and kick some ass at ping-pong."

"You any good?" Syd asked as she opened the door, ducking as a ping-pong ball flew past her ear.

Anne shook her head, grinning at her friend's obliviousness. "NO! But I have a really hard and really accurate serve."

"You're on."

Unfortunately, the seemingly innocent game _did_ deteriorate into Ultimate Whipping Ping-Pong. The last straw was when John and Henry pulled their shirts over their heads, wrapped them around their eyes, and began playing blind. Anne hastily (and quietly) moved the party upstairs, leaving them to wonder where everyone went. In the family room, Anne laid out her newly acquired game of Cranium, and there was a near repeat performance of Joe's caroling party. (Henry and Mike keeled over in stitches when they got the same Marilyn Monroe card.) The boys versus girls competition ended with the swift downfall of the male camp, their modest tree house of egotism going up in flames in under forty-five minutes. John then pulled out a word game in which one pulled a card, read aloud the word printed on it, and everyone had to write a sentence that demonstrated knowledge of the word. Then everyone voted on which sentence held the real meaning. There were rules involving actual pawns and a board, but they generally consented not to hear let alone follow them; they were having too much fun concocting the craziest sentences possible.

Syd had to fight to write wrong sentences.

They played so long that when John's parents trooped downstairs to order pizza for them, they had no idea there was only an hour 'til midnight. Syd began to fidget nervously. As she looked around the oval kitchen table, a fact struck her with enough force to turn her stomach.

What did people usually do on New Year's Eve at midnight?

Kiss.

Five guys, Five girls.

The numbers were perfect.

But were _they_ usual?

No.

Hell, Sydney did not feel very usual. The end of the year normally brought a welcomed sense of conclusion; that the old year was washing away with the dirty bath water and the new was just beyond the shower curtain. She and Francie (and sometimes Will when he did not have a girlfriend) made resolutions that were either easy to achieve or so superhuman that they did not feel badly when they broke them. But now...it felt like New Year's Eve was just another holiday to celebrate, another excuse for a party. All this symbolized to them was having to remember to mark a different year on all their papers. The change of pace was decidedly refreshing.

The pizza arrived in time for them to eat a few slices and gossip. ("Did you hear Lora Vodika has a crush on Henry?" "No way! She's a freshman! Way to go, Hen!" "Ha, ha! You're funny! Drop dead, John." "I hear that way too much. That phrase has lost all meaning.") Then John's parents made another brief appearance to hand out the "Champider" — sparkling cider. They each took two bottles and as many noisemakers, toys, and hats as they could carry outside to the middle of the cul-de-sac in front of his house. John had synchronized his watch with the television's time, and as they counted down from twenty, Syd and Vaughn glanced around the circle nervously to gauge the other teens' reactions.

As they inched towards midnight, each hastily unwrapped the neck of their bottle and began shaking rapidly, intent on popping the cheap plastic top immediately at midnight. The three agents quickly imitated. By some miraculous feat, not one popped early.

"ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

Plastic snapped and cold liquid began spewing everywhere as they aimed at anyone who was not looking. Vaughn and Sydney drenched one another, and Weiss and Henry spent nearly half a bottle each on Anne alone: John held her while the two poured, desperately trying to move fast enough to avoid Anne's thrashing limbs. When all their first bottles were spent, the noisemakers were too soggy to be lifted, and all of them were pretty sure at least one appendage had frostbite, they all trooped inside drinking their second bottle straight from the mouth. They barely finished those bottles and the pizzas before John yawned and kicked them out, citing parental curfew.

Everyone parted amiably, and while Syd and Vaughn waited impatiently at Weiss's car, they spied him receiving a small peck on the cheek before turning and walking away from Anne.

The blush still burned on his face when he dropped the pair off at Syd's house.

**

* * *

**

The problem _would not_ go away.

As soon as Vaughn left her house New Year's Day, she hopped on-line and found dates for softball open gym on the school's website. The closest date was set for the Saturday before break ended, so she logged off her computer, scrambled together what she thought she would need, and set the bag in the hall closet before settling down in the extra bedroom. Before her, every one of the suitcases she brought from L.A. lay open on the bed and the floor. She searched for something — _anything_ — that could possibly give her information on the game of softball. Finally alighting upon an impossibly thin laptop, she fired it up and discovered it stored transcripts from every book ever written, saved word-for-word on the hard drive with an optional read-aloud service. She spent the rest of the day reading and analyzing with a mug of hot chocolate balanced on one knee.

Open gym was decidedly different than her preconceptions. After running only two laps around the field house and doing stretches led by two Varsity members (Dana Hansen and Charlotte Kohn — Syd recognized them), the girls split off into specialty groups. Pitchers and catchers tossed by the wrestling room; infielders practiced grounders next to them; outfielders worked on pop-ups next to _them_; and a few others swung away in the single batting cage that had dropped down form the ceiling. After her research, she had decided that first base was the position for her: she was tall, flexible, and had no idea if she could even throw a softball (let alone accurately), thereby ruling out almost all other positions. She started following a group of girls towards the grounder station — hoping against hope that she did not make a fool of herself — but was pulled aside by one of the coaches.

"Jane, right? Man, I never though I'd see you here." It was Mrs. Clark from first quarter gym class. The tall, muscular blonde cuffed Syd on the shoulder and boomed in her loud voice, "Way to be! Any chance we'll see Anne again? She was really good."

"No, I don't think so," Syd answered carefully, trying to read deeper into Clark's question. "She's really busy what with...band and all."

"Yeah, she _was_ always one of those band geeks," Clark agreed, no longer looking at the agent but surveying the group at large.

"I think she prefers 'band _nerd'_," Syd corrected, the older adult quickly getting on her nerves.

Clark ignored her and nodded towards an abnormally skinny blonde woman who was barking orders at the outfielders. "By the way, that's Coach Laurel Dickens. Head Coach James Naunce's not here tonight 'cause of the snow." As if on cue, the doors on the opposite side of the field house creaked and moaned with the force of the wind. After a pause (and more barking) she continued, "Technically we're not supposed to do any actual coaching, but you know how it is; gotta stay competitive."

"Yeah, I bet," Syd mumbled, pinching the inside of her new mit to keep from punching the woman's face.

Again the coach passed over her comment. Pointing towards the pitchers and catchers she said, "See Kohn there? She's good. Could be great if she lost a little weight and practiced every day. But Anne...Anne was amazing."

"Don't you have any idea why she quit?" Syd ground out through clenched teeth.

"None," She answered simply. "Sure, she didn't get along with half the freshmen squad, but—"

"Then why didn't she make Varsity? I mean, if she was so amazing." Syd fought to stay in character during this bout of questioning; she could not let her curiosity get the better of her.

Clark snorted indignantly. _"Freshmen_ don't make Varsity. _Freshmen_ don't even make J.V. That's just the way it goes. Hey, you ever play before? What's your position?"

"I played for fun in Los Angeles, but never seriously. They always stuck me at first."

"Alright. Hansen's our starter, so I'll get her over here to coach ya a little." Clark made to whistle for the girl, but Syd hastily stopped her.

"I also played second from time to time. A sub, ya know." _Anything_ to get away from Dana Hansen.

"Ooh! Even better!" Clark cooed. "I'll just grab Lara from the supply closet, and we'll get you set up."

'_Lara? No. Fucking. Way.'_

As soon as Coach Clark disappeared, Sydney discretely snuck out.

**

* * *

**

That very same night, her cell phone rang and glowed with Vaughn's number. She had been struggling through her ten-page AP Chemistry packet (her father refused to give them _any_ of the answers) and was more than happy to take a break. "Hey."

"You can't join the softball team."

Caught completely off-guard, she could only mutter a confused, "Excuse me?"

He sighed in exasperation. "You _cannot_, under any circumstances, join the Glenfield Community High School Wildcat Softball Team."

"Why not?" She asked carefully, fully knowing his argument, but wanting to hear it anyway.

"Because," He explained, tone still exasperated, "Lara plays softball."

"I know," She murmured soberly, shocking him into silence. Smiling wryly she continued, "I went to open gym today—"

"_She saw you?"_

"No!' Syd exclaimed, almost insulted. "I left before that could happen."

He sighed again — this time in relief — and she could hear him sit back in his seat. "God, Syd, I thought you were just joking. I didn't think you'd actually go and do it." She waited expectantly for his expansion. "I thought you were just...I don't know...blowing off steam. 'Cause you didn't feel useful?"

"Vaughn, this isn't a phase; it's the way I feel." He paused, and she could feel him nodding now. She felt his frustration — knew what it tasted like — because she tasted it too. "But I'm _definitely_ not joining the softball team, so you don't have to worry about that."

"Hey, we'll figure something out," He assured her, his words as potent as one of his famous Support Hugs. "Even if we have to go to Kendall himself."

"_Please_ don't say that man's name!" She cried, her humour signaling an end to their serious conversation. "Especially when I have more than half my labs to copy into my lab notebook."

"Oh man, I gotta do that too."

"No, you don't."

"Oh yeah, you're right. Ha. Check that out."

"Shut up."

"Where's the fun in that?"

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Twenty-Four:** Finals  
**Chapter Twenty-Five:** Snow Day

I've said it before and I'll say it again: everything has a purpose... This is nowhere near where I thought this one would end up, and quite frankly I was a little surprised when I signed my name to the paper at the end, but I don't know if that's good-surprised or bad-surprised. And to think, there's only ten more chapters to go. Including the epilogue.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	24. Finals

**After a VERY long interim...Longer than expected...**

**This Chapter: **an Extra Credit Party of the fluffy variety, more Weiss jealousy, finals joy, and _another_ possible mini-mission?

**Suggested Soundtrack: **Hmm. This is a hard one. Let's go for "Before I Forget" by Slipknot, "Jupiter" by Jewel, "Where You Are" by Mark Broussard, "Disappear" by Hoobastank, and any song off the _Alias_ soundtrack.

**Author's Note:** Enjoy!

**

* * *

**

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Finals**

Hectic. No. _Really_ hectic. No. _Hectic on speed._ Only that phrase could describe the week leading up to first semester finals. Hallways became highways with the faster students keeping to the inside and slower students plodding along the walls — or risk getting trampled. Footprints on papers, folders, and hands were not uncommon.

Tension mounted to an insane pitch equivalent to a B-flat five lines off the staff on a piccolo. People snapped at one another left and right, arguing over which formulas to use when, what graph went with which equation, and whether semicolons or a dash should be used in a MLA-format essay. Smiles disappeared, replaced quickly with furrowed brows and glazed eyes, weary with frustration and sleep deprivation.

The size of their morning circle morphed almost minutely, depending on who needed answers, explanations, notes, or calculator programs. Someone named Jen Thomas's old Chemistry finals began circulating that Monday, and the next day Tyler Lampkin's (another large question mark for Sydney) old Chemistry calculator programs, otherwise known as legal cheats. (Banks actually encouraged his students to download these programs.) Syd knew of many people selling colour-coded copies of their well-kept notes all over senior hall. A group of her friends would pitch in for one copy, and they would all share. She could only marvel at the students' organization.

Everyone had at least one thick review packet per class — barring only band, even though Guter had threatened — which meant a decrease in morning spontaneity. No late arrivals; no lawn chairs (the newest senior hall craze); no blasting stereos; no games like 'Let's Hide Anne's Driver's License'; and _no donut runs_. Syd quickly learned to buy or bring her own sustenance.

Classes that passed without event or even without waking now waited past the bell, stayed by questions and last minute notes. _Jane_ furiously scribbled down transcripts of entire periods while _Sydney_ wondered how the hell she missed all of this the first time around. Unused to recalling and memorizing and processing this much information — let alone maintain her cover — her brain shook with the first tremblings of a mental breakdown. Only her daily after school study sessions with Vaughn, Weiss, and Anne seemed to cure her incredible insecurities. The fact that she could tell both Vaughn and Weiss felt the pressure too helped immensely.

Her father would not cut them any slack, either; all three student/agents had to take the AP Chemistry exam just like everyone else. This equality meant different things to each of them. To Vaughn, it meant studying just enough for a D or C on the exams, therefore squeaking by for the semester with a D in each class. To Weiss, that meant more studying for one grade interval higher; he needed to maintain a C average in order to keep his spot on the swim team. For Syd, it meant utter hell, dreaming of dates and reciting chemical formulas in her sleep.

Because "Guter loves to see us suffer," he cancelled band from Wednesday until the final, giving the students time to stress while glaring at them haughtily through his office window. _No one_ lined the music department hall, creating a maze of legs and arms and backpack straps. _No one_ strayed into the choir room and began plinking on the piano. _No one_ snuck off into the practice rooms to play hackey sack or cards.

Anne and her group of friends took up their normal spots in the trumpet section in front of the chimes, and a continuation of the morning would ensue, complete with shifting people and all. But that Friday was less _hectic on speed_ than normal. Syd was in the middle of relearning the polyatomic atoms when a sign-up sheet floated down over her periodic table. She looked up only to see Anne and Weiss arguing heatedly over something called the chain rule, but out of the corner of her eye, Anne winked at Sydney before pushing Weiss's head away in disgust.

Vaughn leaned in over Sydney's shoulder as she bent over the scrap of notebook paper. On it: two simple columns, one simple heading. Across the top in Anne's chicken scratch read "Anne's Extra Credit Party." The left column detailed date, time, and location, while the right listed four names in various pens and inks: John Motz, Katie Goode, Greggory Stone, and Henry Hans Rudolph.

Syd peered at Vaughn curiously, her pencil poised over the next blank line. He quickly mouthed 'AP Chem' before offering a short nod, and she signed the paper, passing it off to her boyfriend afterwards.

"So...what's up with this...extra credit party?" Syd asked Weiss as they ascended the outdoor ramp to Lincoln. As she walked, her cloudy breath recoiled and hit her in the face like tiny sharp ice pellets. Snow breezed through the gaps, and swirled around in mini tornadoes before melting on an exposed arm or nose.

Weiss peered at her incredulously. "Don't you listen, woman?" He held the door for her as the two-minute bell rang, and each breathed in the warm air.

"You know damn well that I don't."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you feel up my best friend while the entire class pretends not to notice."

"Do you have a point, or am I gonna be late for class for nothing?"

"All AP Chem classes have the opportunity to collect extra credit points by making mobiles, a model of an element, and/or a three-D model of the periodic table. Since _our_ Chem grades are slightly less than sparkling, Anne decided it'd be more fun it we all got _together_ and did 'em. Plus, it's an excuse to take a break from studying."

The tardy bell rang, and Syd ran down the hall to her classroom yelling, "Tell 'er I'll be there!"

Jack cancelled their Friday meeting, supposedly so they could study. Weiss just invited Vaughn, Syd, and Anne to watch movies in his basement. The two girls ended up studying on the pool table while the guys watched hockey.

Marshall spent the majority of Saturday tutoring Sydney, Vaughn, and Weiss in their respective math-related subjects. He ushered them into Sydney's guest bedroom, pushed a chair against the largest wall, and began feeling around near where the wall met the ceiling. Each student/agent peered up at him curiously, their pens poised at the ready above their notebooks. "Hey Marshall," Weiss finally said. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Trying...to find...the, uh, the...ah ha! There we go!" He must have pressed an incredibly small button, because an automatic white screen rolled halfway down the wall and stopped. He hopped off the chair awkwardly and glanced around the room nervously. "Now where is that thing — that, uh, that _thing_—"

"Top shelf in the back all the way on the left. Behind the red suitcase," Syd answered, assuming he meant the projector she found on her first day. "But Marshall," She continued, "why are you here? Why do we need to go over stuff we already know?"

"Well," He grunted as he struggled to heft the large machine down from its hiding place. Vaughn shot up from his patch of comforter and helped him ease the machine onto the bed. Marshall smiled gratefully before continuing, "Well I'm here to teach you—" a nod to Vaughn "—how to fail, you—" a nod to Weiss "—how to fail just a little, and you—" a nod to Sydney "—how to be a little more like me."

The projector operated on battery power, so Marshall set the contraption in front of him while the others sat around. Sydney had the distinct feeling of attending a really small and under-funded college. As Marshall copied problems directly onto the overhead, he paused and casually remarked, "You know, this is kind of like that one movie with the guy who played 'Inspector Gadget' and Harold Hill in the remake of 'The Music Man' — nothing compared to the original, by the way — and the kids steal the dad's car and go to Wrigley Field and—"

"You mean 'Ferris Bueller's Day Off'?" Weiss asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Marshall nodded vigorously and pointed at Weiss, nearly breaking his hand on the head of the projector. "Yeah! That's the one! I love that movie!"

"Ferris Bueller has nothing to do with anything we're doing right now," Eric affirmed, tone slightly condescending as Vaughn began tapping his pencil against the comforter.

Marshall, slightly taken aback, returned to the overhead and began explaining the complicated procedure for solving an integral involving trigonometric equations by using u-substitution. Sydney zoned out for a time — her pre-calculus class had learned nothing of the sort, and probably did not plan to — and began to think. In her adult life so far (an admittedly short amount of time) she had never used an integral, let alone u-substitution (whatever the hell _that_ was), as far as she could remember. Yes, there was the random mission that required the use of advanced calculus, but those were few and far between. If even _spies_ did not utilize the stuff often...

"Why the hell do we need this?" She heard herself asking no one in particular. "We never use it in real life. What's the point in learning it?"

"I agree," Weiss moaned, flopping across Vaughn's lap and making the projector jump. "In the infamous words of Anne and company: this blows like a mother."

"First of all," Vaughn started, "get your ass off my lap—"

"Oh, you'd pay to get this ass on your lap."

"—And second," H continued, throwing a dirty look at his best friend, "we're learning this so we get into a good college. Well, so that Jane gets into a good college, at least."

"So that's the only reason?" Syd questioned incredulously, ignoring Marshall's mouth flapping in indignation at the interruption of his lesson. "We remember this stuff just long enough to get a good grade on the final, and then forget it? Sounds kind of pointless to me."

"I agree," Weiss repeated, rounding his shoulders as he stared at the doodle-filled notebook in front of him.

Vaughn ignored him. "Well, that's the way it is. It's the way it was when I was in school. Frankly, I'm surprised I learned my multiplication tables."

Sydney grinned sardonically. "So am I." He smiled at her sarcastically and followed it up with his pen hitting her in the shoulder. Marshall tried to interject again, but she cut him off. "But seriously, this is a hell of a lot of frustration for _one_ grade to get into _one_ school that probably won't even care about your grades that much. The whole process seems really stupid and superficial and...stupid."

"I agree."

"Shut up, Weiss."

"GUYS!" Marshall cried, surprising all of them. They swiveled around and stared at the techie expectantly. He seemed to not expect the sudden attention and began fidgeting with his washable marker. "Well, uh, guys, can-can we get back to the m-material?"

The three others exchanged a small look before Vaughn nodded. "Sure Marshall, go ahead. We're sorry about that. Mister Stutter," He added in a whisper.

Alarmed, the tech expert glared at the other agent. "What? W-what did you say?"

"It's just what the kids at school call you. You know, like 'Nazi Bitch Woman'. Don't worry about it." A wink at Syd and Weiss.

"But — you said—"

"I _said_ don't worry about it."

**

* * *

**

Syd knocked timidly on the glass of Anne's back door. Despite the multitude of cars lining the narrow suburban asphalt, they could just as easily belong to party-goers down the street. No one lounged in the family room with mugs of Monster; no one raided her pantry or fridge; no one crowded around the ancient island stove as she boiled the water for macaroni and cheese. She checked her watch discreetly; maybe she got the time wrong and she was immensely early.

But then Allie, Anne's white toy dog with whom she had a love/hate relationship, barreled towards the door and leapt halfway up the glass pane, her piercing bark only slightly muffled. Anne skidded around the corner and hopped over the one perpetually loose tile before scooping up her dog and opening the door. "Who needs a doorbell when you've got this piece of crap?" She asked rhetorically , affectionately rubbing Allie's stomach as she twitched. She set her down, and the small white mess of fur began nipping at Sydney's ankles as she stripped off her layers of winter outwear. Anne repeatedly kicked her away as she remarked, "You're late. Well, not _late_ late, but we still run on band time."

"I thought Bridget was invited."

"She's learned." A wink. "Come on downstairs. Everyone's here already. Bring your stuff. We _were_ watching 'The West Wing', but they probably switched DVDs: Summer and Katie were lobbying for a 'Lord of the Rings' marathon."

Sure enough when the pair crashed down the rickety wooden stairs to Anne's basement, Weiss, Vaughn, John Motz, Henry, Katie Goode, and Bridget all sprawled out in various positions around the dark and semi-finished room. Bridget, Summer, Katie, and Weiss avidly watched the TV situated in the middle of the clutter; the rest fumbled with crossword puzzles, direction sheets, and information printed off the Internet. Anne sighed in exasperation, and she pointed towards her room down a short hall. "Extra stuff in there. Oh, and ignore the immense amount of wood. Henry thought it'd be funny to bring it, even though we decided on the phone last night that we wouldn't do any three-D models."

"Oh," Syd said, taken slightly aback as Henry beckoned Anne to sit beside him. "Okay. Michael? Help me a bit? _S'il te plaît?"_

Vaughn leapt up from the floor and followed her towards Anne's bedroom, eyes still glued to the television with rapt fascination. Syd dumped her backpack on the bed and began rifling through it as Vaughn closed the door soundlessly. "So...what's up?" He asked quietly, sitting on the bed next to her.

Without glancing up she replied, "I was going to ask you the same thing. You hear anything of particular interest?"

"No, not really," He answered, shaking his head slightly. "I learned that Henry cannot play DDR to save his soul. Literally. Anne owns him now."

"And what about her?" Syd segued, halting her questing hands and glancing up at her boyfriend curiously. "Has she — Have they — God, I don't even know how to phrase this! Have any advancements been made—"

"Not really," He cut her off, sparing her any possible embarrassment. "She's been really buddy-buddy with Henry lately."

"More than usual?"

"Yep. I wouldn't be surprised if we went out there and Henry had his feet in Anne's lap."

Syd's shoulders slumped as she finally extracted her Chemistry binder and a pencil. "What's Eric's reaction?"

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Barely muted rage. I'm surprised he hasn't peed on her to mark his territory. Frankly, wouldn't put it past him, either." He shrugged as she raised an eyebrow, and they both rose to leave. "Let's go. And don't treat this as a mission. Just for once in your life have fun for an afternoon."

His boyish grin nearly had her convinced. Nearly. She decided long ago that if she ever wanted even a brief mention in the mission debrief, she needed to stay alert twenty-four/seven, spy senses honed at all times. So while she outwardly agreed with him and allowed his arm to slip around her waist on their way out, the hair on the back of her neck remained standing.

"Finally!" Anne cried as the couple rejoined the group. She sat cross-legged on the couch with Henry on the ground below her; she braided his long hair into horrible imitations of dredlocks. "I though I was going to have to burn my bed. I don't, do I? Sit _down_, John! You stupid pyro, you!"

Syd missed the inside joke but laughed all the same. They sat down on the floor next to John, and he immediately handed Syd three completed crossword puzzles. "Here ya go. Have fun. Summer went on-line and did them last night."

"You're welcome, by the way!" Summer called from the other side of the basement, a pencil in her mouth and about a million papers spread before her on the ground.

Anne gave her characteristic short laugh, tying off one braid with a covered rubber band. "Don't lie, Sum: you know you like it when we copy. Either that, or you're too anxious to wait for John to do it." He threatened to spill his pop on her, and Henry shoved his head the other way. Anne patted her subject's hair once and reclaimed her binder from Weiss's lap, giving him a coy smile. "Okay, guys. Let's see...Why don't half of us get started on the actual atom models and the other half can use the computer to type their two hundred-word essay? And Summer can keep plowin' away on those crosswords? Sound good? All right. Go!"

Bridget, Katie, and John fled to the laptop and printer against the opposite wall behind the TV, pushing and shoving and vaulting over half-assembled bikes. Anne used Henry's head for leverage as she rose to the TV and surrounding entertainment unit, and he called out, "Hey John!" He turned abruptly, allowing Bridget to get the seat. "You suck!" John shook his fist at his friend and promptly sat on Bridget's lap, causing her to scream.

Meanwhile, Anne pulled out Styrofoam balls of every size from one of the bottom cupboards. Weiss unveiled a box of paints on one of the end tables and passed it along as well as a can of spray glue. Anne glanced at it, puzzled, but laid it out as well. The remaining students reorganized themselves into a circle around the supplies and began grabbing at random objects. Vaughn collected for Sydney, as she had no idea what they were doing.

Turning her attention away from the actual work, Syd reclined against the foot of the couch and asked, "Anne, why does your basement look like a bike shop?"

"Maybe because my parents own one?" She answered sarcastically, a tiny smile lilting her lips.

Both Weiss and Henry nearly stumbled over each other to explain, but Henry's distinct voice won out. "Her older half-brother is a full-time biker. He's even training for the Tour de France. Their family sponsors the annual Sugarville bike race."

Vaughn brightened at the mention of his home country, possibly to diffuse the mounting tension in the air between the two males. _"Tour de France? Je l'ai vu! Je l'ai vu!"_

"Good for you, Michael," Anne said, taking a stapled packet of papers off the top of a pile. Passing it on to Henry she added, "But it's Chemistry time, now. We're not going to be distracted today. I swear to God, we're not. Guys! Stop laughing! Seriously!"

Sydney came to realize that they were making hanging models of a chemical compound that 'interested' them. She chose rhubarb because it was the only one she could pronounce, and began gathering and painting Styrofoam balls according to the diagram's specifications. As she colored the objects, she listened in on the others' conversations.

"Do you really think Guter'll make us play during the band final?" Anne asked to no one in particular, leaning against Weiss with one eye on the television and the other on her project.

Katie shrugged, sitting on a bike while waiting for her turn at the computer. "Maybe. He made us play our sophomore year. _That_ sucked."

"But _we_ also sucked that year," Summer pointed out, raising her head for a fraction of a second before returning to the crosswords in front of her.

Anne now turned all of her attention to the topic. "But there's classes going on! Beckett has a Drama final second hour; Juares has Broadcast Communications in the tech lab, but I have no idea what they're doing for their final; both Physical Science classrooms are in use; and who knows who's using the ASC during second hour? We're going to piss off a lot of people."

"Don't you always?" Katie inserted, earning dirty looks from everyone else.

"It could be worse," Henry pointed out, opting for the Elmer's glue instead of the spray can. "He could've given us an actual final like freshman year. Now _that_ was stupid."

"He encouraged us to cheat!" John exclaimed from his post next to the computer. "All we had to do was match musical terminology to their definitions and write down five songs we played for concert band. I think only one person actually did it; the rest all copied."

"Isn't that the way with everything?" Anne asked, ending the band branch of the conversation. "No one ever does anything for themselves anymore. Everyone copies and cheats. Hell, look at the crosswords! We're horrible!"

"Dude, don't make us feel guilty," John countered. "None of us are going to use this crap ever again except for...well Summer, but she's the one doing it."

"Darn straight."

Katie began peddling on the suspended bike. "Didn't you hear? This kid in Joe's AP Physics class wants to pay him twenty bucks to cheat off his final."

"Is he gonna do it?" Anne asked, disgust laced through her tone and face.

Shrugging Katie replied, "No idea. I just told him not to, but he always thinks he needs money, even though the kid has _four_ jobs."

"Four?" Sydney finally spoke up, pausing in her mass of paint, glue, and Styrofoam to look up. "How does he manage to do anything?"

"I honestly think he doesn't sleep," Katie answered from her perch. "But one of those jobs is tech crew for school stuff in the auditorium, and another is a vendor for the Kane County Cougars when they play during the summer. So in reality, only two jobs."

"Getting back to my point," Anne interrupted, tossing a glare over her shoulder at Katie, "kids are way too desperate for good grades nowadays. I _never_ stay up 'til freaking three in the morning just to get an essay done or a project finished. I mean, come on! Sleep is _way_ more important that school."

"Yeah, but..." John trailed off uneasily. "Don't you sacrifice even a _little_ sleep in pursuit of Georgetown?"

Anne paused, thinking hard, and Sydney almost laughed at the look on her face. Bobbing her head in a yes-no combination she responded, "Yeah, I guess. But I still wouldn't stay up 'til three in the morning—"

"That's because you don't have to," Summer cut in, still focused on her papers. "You always get everything done in class, or if not, in another class. It's not fair. That's why everyone hates you, Anne."

She blew on her fingernails and rubbed them on her shirt. "I know." Turning back to her project, she became serious again. "But this cheating thing — sorry, one last thing to say before we move on — Tyce Raji's patented Geek Study Session."

All the seniors ah-ed in approval, but no one made any attempt to explain to the agents. Vaughn reached across the circle and tapped Anne on her shoulder. _"Explique, s'il te plaît."_

Anne locked eyes with Henry as Katie, Bridget, and John glanced at each other nervously. She swallowed hard as she chose her words carefully, just like when she described the E.W.E. Party. "See, Tyce Raji — you haven't heard of him? Well, he went to my middle school. Freaking genius — holds a 'Geek Study Session' the Wednesday of finals." She stopped suddenly as if that was all to be said on the subject. Syd frowned harshly at her friend, guilting her into continuing. "No one knows exactly what goes on, 'cause very few people actually show up, but there's always rumors."

"What rumors?" Syd asked cautiously, her interests thoroughly piqued. Maybe...Just maybe...Another mini-mission?

Her friend bit her lip as though she felt she should hold back and began toying with her half-finished model. "People say," She began, just as cautiously as Syd, "they hand out copies of every final with answer keys and Riddilin to help you stay up and memorize them. Of course there's more, but you _know_ I don't like rumors." She glanced up at Syd earnestly, suddenly extremely serious. "Don't go, Jane. Don't waste your time. Really. I—I heard it's stupid, and it'll be all over school if you _do_ go."

The rest of the teens looked uneasy as they peered back and forth between Syd and Anne as if watching a tennis match. Vaughn squeezed her waist in warning. But still! What if...What if they exchanged more than just stolen answers? What if Sark was involved? Sure, it was a long shot at best, but Syd felt so neglected at that point, she would take any lead that had the remotest possibility of turning gold. But, again, for now she would remain silent; she would not lie to Vaughn or Weiss if asked, but she would not voluntarily tell them.

Smiling, Sydney leaned back into Vaughn and offered a poor imitation of Anne's short laugh. "I was just asking! So where do they hold this thing? You know, so I can avoid them like the plague?"

The tension in the air dissipated as Anne smiled, stretching out her legs into Weiss's lap. "The Sugarville Public Library. So study and the Angers Library, or pop on over to my house if your parents get too loud." Suddenly a crash sounded from the other side of the room, and every head swiveled to see Katie and John fighting over the wooden desk chair, which now rested flat on its back. Bridget retreated slowly, absolving herself from the situation. Anne groaned and leaned against the entertainment unit in exasperation. "Guys! My house! My chair! _Please_ don't break anything — unlike last time."

Fierce arguing ensued, and Syd continued to work on her project, happily devising a mini-mission for herself.

**

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**

Syd limped out of her first hour final two days later with frayed nerves. Yes, there was no way in hell that she could have failed a high school English final, but she had forgotten how the adrenaline rushed through her veins to cramp her hands as she wrote an in-class essay. (Two of them, actually: Tressaut bucked the department final for two old AP test prompts. No student knew exactly how to feel.) Despite being allotted only half the time she had in college — an hour and a half — she knocked off both essays with time to spare. As the bell rang to signal the end of her first first semester final at Glenfield, Sydney loitered around outside, waiting — Anne still furiously scribbled away.

It was their only final of the day, but the administration still thought it necessary that they attend the rest of their classes in drastically shortened periods. The rest of the week featured solely three finals each day (they were dismissed around one) and no attendance on Friday. Sydney felt drained after one final; she could not imagine her state of mind after _three_.

Vaughn met them at the double doors to the music department, and he and Syd remained outside as Anne went in conversing with a few juniors. He slung his arm about her waist as they leaned against the blue lockers. "Well," He began, low enough to lose the French accent (she almost wished he had not), "failing that Geometry final was nowhere _near_ hard: I filled in 'C' for all of 'em and then caught up on a bit of sleep."

"Great use of your time, dear," She whispered back sarcastically, nuzzling his neck.

He smiled into her hair. "Hey, if it makes you happy, I _won't_ confuse Ms. Beckett. by writing my English essay in French. Hell, I'll even do patterns for American History and Chem. French...now that one I have to pass."

The two-minute bell rang, and they joined the influx into the band room. Guter sat at his podium and presided over the band room, but no one sat before him with instruments in their laps as usual. Instead, he supervised the destruction of the 'Holiday' walls while the rest of the band avidly watched a tape of the National Drum Core Championships. The couple climbed the terraces to help Anne, Weiss, and company. The former hopped on a chair in a desperate attempt to rip down a strand of lights, but sadly came nowhere near.

"You know, after four years," She was saying, "you'd think having to go the rest of the day after first hour final would seem less..."

"Sucky?" Henry supplied, ripping down the strand for her. He helped her down as Weiss frowned off to the side.

Anne nodded. "Yeah, but it never does. Think finals will be less sucky in college?"

"No," Syd answered almost automatically. Anne laughed, and she blushed. "Friend's college sister."

"Does it ever _really_ get less sucky?" Anne asked to no one in particular, rolling the strand of lights into a neat coil.

Everyone else shrugged in indifference but Weiss answered, "Probably not. I mean, you work for practically the rest of your life, then worry about whether you take the blue or red pills in your last, oh, three seconds. Sounds like a barrel of laughs to me."

"That's why I want to be a politician," Anne replied, now supervising her friends. She kicked a half-full box of garland over to Caty Wagner, Summer, and Ruth. "There's always goals to set and reach. By the time I get to be the President, I'll be rich enough to never work again. And I'll be happy about it, because I'll be busy writing my memoirs with some famous biographer."

"Sounds like you've got it all planned out," Weiss smiled, brazenly brushing her arm with his knuckles.

Anne sighed and slumped her shoulders, "Yeah. Now if only I could pass my AP Calc exam, that would be great."

The next day began with second hour, during which they played for a regular period and then, influenced by many lobbying seniors, Guter allowed them to study for the rest of the period. During the fifteen-minute passing period between finals (the three scheduled for that day: second, third, and combinations of four, five, and six), Vaughn pulled Syd aside in the uniform room, effectively losing both Weiss and Anne. She applied chapstick patiently as he made sure no one listened at the door. "Don't tell me you're thinking about going to that Geek Study Session tonight," He admonished, standing before her as she sat on the bench of an ancient, unused electronic organ.

She shook her head innocently. "I've already thought about it. I'm going."

Sighing in exasperation he pleaded, "Don't! What's the point? You heard Anne: no one knows what really goes on at one of those things—"

"Exactly!" She cried, realizing too late that she should keep quiet. Lowering her volume she added, "I'll be the first to find out. There's a chance, however minuscule, that they're doing something of interest to us."

"And what if they're not?" Vaughn collapsed onto the bench beside her, taking her hands in his. "What if they only steal the answer keys, and someone accidentally squeals. Your cover's blown!"

"And what if they do?" She retorted, stubborn as ever. "Are you willing to pass up an opportunity for yet another lead? Are you willing to piss me off that much?"

Vaughn sighed and averted his gaze, weighing the possibilities carefully. "If you're going through with this," He murmured slowly, "I want a part of it. Whatever you want me to do. I won't let you get into this alone. I'm in."

She smiled as he looked up determinedly. "Good. At least this time, you won't have to throw me in the trunk of your car. Although it'd be a kinky bonus..." The serious set of his brow and their waning time steered her back on subject. "Okay, I'm going to go in as myself — well, that is to say, Jane — so anyone else coming with me, especially Michael Tibot, will seem suspicious."

"Comms, then? You want me on comms?" He suggested, and Syd nodded. "You shouldn't need any weapons, and back-up is out of the question—"

"—So no Eric. All right," She sighed, happier with the result of this covert meeting than with certain previous others. "We better go. I've got to at least look like I'm worried about my French final."

"Oh, I think you'll pass." He leaned in for a kiss, and their tongues did battle for a time before he broke it off prematurely. Nodding he added, "Yep. Definitely an A plus."

The rest of the day passed without incident, although Sydney knew she must have fumbled a few dates in her American History exam. Their group of friends went out for a late lunch at Wendy's, and subsequently almost got thrown out multiple times. Afterwards, Vaughn and Syd drove back to her place to prepare for her mini-mission. She had done some listening during passing periods and gathered that the session took place at eight o'clock, the hour before the library closed — it practically guaranteed no one else would be there. All she had to do was show up and ask at the front desk for Tyce's room. They always reserved a private study room, with one door in and another as a fire escape that led out to the back of the building — this the agents gathered on a drive-by past the Sugarville Public Library.

So at a quarter to eight, Vaughn dropped Sydney off two blocks away from the library, and, after switching on her comm pieces, she followed the protocol and found herself in a cubicle-sized room with six or seven people whom she had never seen before, let alone talked to. Despite having 'Geek' in the name, the attendees looked far from it; in fact, many had lettermen's jackets and were pretty much pimple-free. She smiled weakly at them and took a seat, noticing nervously that she had brought too much. In front of the others lay single folders, compared to her notebook, book, binder, and folder. She merely blushed as Jane would have done and shrugged it off.

Finally Tyce Raji strode into the room. (Vaughn had made sure to point him out when they hung out in Commons before the four/five/six final.) He stood tall and broad-shouldered with naturally tanned skin and a black buzz cut. His black eyes alighted upon her in initial confusion, but then noticed her juvenile stack of supplies, smiled wryly, and slung his own lettermen's jacket across the back of a chair. His grin screamed, _'NEWBIE'_, but he said nothing directly to her.

Instead, he extracted a fairly thick manila folder from the lining of her coat and set it carefully onto the table before them all. "They're all there," He stated, voice deep and monotone. "Every first semester final given at Glenfield. Took me longer than expected to get a hold of the Philosophy finals — apparently Mister Caliendo and Mister Johansen don't give the same test."

The others flew at the folder, practically tearing it to shreds in their haste, and Sydney quickly followed their lead, purposely avoiding the packets containing answers to those tests which she had yet to take. One at a time, the boys left the room to photocopy entire packets while the others stayed and began the memorization process. Just as she committed the first page of Miss Stowe's Botany final to memory, Tyce spoke yet again. "The Insider should be here soon. She's a rep from the _Negro/Azuls_, and she promised a real sweet stash this time."

Syd struggled to keep her gasp internal as Vaughn swore through the earpiece. As soon as a sandy-haired kin returned, she brought the rest of her belongings along with her (just in case) as she took the Botany file to copy, but instead hid in the bathroom and locked the door so she could speak with Vaughn privately.

"Did you get that all on tape?" She whispered harshly. When he answered in the affirmative she continued, "I think that's more than enough incriminating evidence. Aren't you glad we did this now? We've got another lead! I'm so happy I could sing!"

"Yes, yes, you're right. Insert funny joke here. Now I want you out. If there's really a representative from the _Negro/Azuls_ there, I want you not to be." When she began protesting, gesturing angrily with the folder, he merely talked over her. "It's way too dangerous. I have no idea who she is, we have no back-up, you have no weapon, and you have a cover to maintain. Too much is at stake for something that's already in the bag."

Sighing in resignation, she donned her coat and scooped up her belongings. "Fine. I'll meet you at the gas station in five." Ducking out of the bathroom, she quietly left the folder containing the Botany file outside the study room and then quickly stole out through the lower-level entrance, practically running through the nipping darkness.

The next morning, Anne did not show up until thirty minutes into six/seven/eight final, the first of the day. She walked into Commons with two McDonald's bags and Henry at her elbow. None of them had a six/seven/eight class to take a final for, since there were no finals (thankfully) for gym classes, and both Henry and Vaughn had study period. They spread their loot before their friends. Syd closed her Chemistry binder and Vaughn lowered his feet from the table.

"I'm guessing no one told you: if you don't have a final, you don't have to be here," Anne said, taking a sip of her pop. "_I_ got to sleep in, and Henry picked me up so we could get breakfast for y'all. Dig in! Then we can study for the Chem final together. _All_ of us," She added, pointedly glaring at Vaughn. He ignored her as he bit into his hashbrowns. "So, Jane. I tried to call you last night, but no one answered. Where were you?"

Vaughn and Syd shared a brief glance before she answered, "I was studying at Michael's. Sorry. My cell must've been turned off."

"Studying," Henry repeated skeptically. "So that's what you crazy kids call it these days. Speaking of kids, what's blue and red and silver?"

Anne rolled her eyes. "Oh God. Not more dead baby jokes. So about those solubility rules..."

Their Chemistry final went surprisingly well, although Weiss kept shooting furtive glances at Syd after Vaughn told him how Anne arrived at school. After the bell rang, signaling the start of the fifteen-minute passing period before their tenth hour final, all three student/agents lingered until the room had completely cleared. Jack stared curiously at his daughter as she stepped forward and cleared her throat.

"We have something to show you."

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

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**Chapter Twenty-Five: Snow Day  
Chapter Twenty-Six: Cupid Gone Rogue **Snow Day Cupid Gone Rogue

Okay, I'll need everyone to bear with me the next couple of chapters; I'll be throwing a lot of information your way, and I don't want anyone to get too extremely confused. But we're _finally_ getting to the meaty stuff! I'm so excited! At last, I can let my muse just run for a while without having to worry if I'm divulging classified information.

Again, sorry about the wait. Hopefully it won't be long 'til the next chapter.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	25. Snow Day!

**BAM! Here's another... **

**Chapter Genre:** Teenage angst with a splash of surprise at the end

**This Chapter: **A little ranting (from everyone), a snow day, an unexpected visit, and the Cliffhanger Monsters return...

**Suggested Soundtrack: **"Scars" by Papa Roach, "No Giving Up" by Crossfade, and "One Thing" by Finger Eleven.

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the shortness of this one, but after spending an entire afternoon staring at this chapter and trying to figure out where to fatten it up, I realized anything else would render this crap and not just crap. So, on that note, enjoy!

**

* * *

**

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Snow Day**

The second after the bell rang ending their tenth hour final, Sydney bolted to her father's classroom, assuming he wanted to call an emergency meeting. She found Weiss, Dixon, and Marshall already there, and Vaughn fell through the door before it shut behind her. Jack paced behind his desk and practically screamed into his cell phone — Syd caught the word 'Hernandez' a couple of times, and safely assumed he spoke with either the Director of the Chicago branch of the CIA or one of his superiors in Washington D.C. Suddenly he stopped, his demeanor dripping down from his livid high. After uttering a simple 'oh', he switched off his phone and finally turned to face the other agents. He peered at them curiously as he set the phone down onto the counter.

Without pretense he asked evenly, "What are you doing here?"

Because his eyes still blazed, Vaughn and Weiss pleaded silently with Sydney to be their spokeswoman. With an admonishing glare at her boyfriend she responded, "Well, we figured you'd want us here to discuss what we need to do—"

"This was news to them," He cut her off, probably as anxious as they to leave the school. They must have looked suspicious, staying even though finals were over. "They had no idea the _Negro/Azuls_ have a _female_ working for them. Are you sure you didn't get a look at her? No one mentioned a name other than The Insider?"

Sydney shook her head. "No. We figured it'd be too dangerous to see this woman without—"

"We?" Jack repeated, dangerously low and calm. "I was willing to forgive _your_ indiscretion, but...Who else helped you?"

She could feel Vaughn's urge to bolt from the room but answered truthfully anyway. "Vaughn. I devised the mission, and he helped me carry it out. Without him," She added, hoping she did not sound too desperate, "I probably would have stayed — definitely a stupid move."

A long moment passed as her father stared at her boyfriend with the most penetrating gaze he could muster. Vaughn did not quail; rather, he seemed to stand taller and closer to Sydney than he normally would have dared. Unexpectedly, Jack murmured through tight lips, "Do you have any idea how many federal laws you broke last night?"

Without hesitating Vaughn replied, "About thirteen — depending on interpretation — including unauthorized espionage within the borders of the United States and unauthorized use of federal equipment. But since when have any of us cared about federal law?" He knew her father would not have brought up the law if Vaughn had not been involved, and she knew spite fueled each male's motivation.

Deciding to break off the stare down — they could probably go at it for hours — Sydney crossed in front of her boyfriend and queried, "What does Kendall want us to do about it? Any special mission for us? Or are the Chicago agents on it?"

This brought Jack back into the present, and he perched on his tall swivel chair importantly. "He hasn't decided yet, but I wouldn't plan anything next week if I were you." With a final indulgent glare at Vaughn he barked, "Now get out of here. I have tests to grade."

Syd, Vaughn, and Weiss spent the rest of the extended weekend in Anne's basement, watching every movie ever made and venturing outside on occasion to ice skate on the flooded volleyball courts at Oakwood Park.

The crater left after first semester finals and a four-day weekend (Martin Luther King Junior's birthday awarded them an extra, extra day) rivaled the one residing in Roswell, New Mexico. Zombies and slugs roamed the halls for the first two days of second semester. Teachers were not much better; the sole one to jump overzealously into a new unit was Mr. Tull. Only one thing shook the students out of their stupor.

The Thursday after finals, Syd and Vaughn arrived late for unmentionable reasons and had to park at Kerr McGee. Skidding through Entrance A just as the first bell rang, they sprinted to their lockers and shared a quick kiss before galloping to first hour. Sydney leapt through her English door just as the tardy bell sounded, and she collapsed in the seat next to Anne. (Tressaut/Mark Malone's seating chart had long ago been shot to hell; Lara began ushering her friends to the back table, effectively ostracizing Sydney.) Anne only lifted a knowing eyebrow in response.

Before Tressaut even left his computer chair, Vicky's hand shot straight in the air, and she did not wait to be called on. "Did anything listen to Mancow this morning?" More than half the class broke out in angry babble, and Syd started in shock. What the hell was going on?

"I was actually going to bring that up," Tressaut interjected over the hubris, effectively quieting them. He seemed to know of what Vicky spoke. He laid his copy of _Beowulf_ on top of the computer tower and leaned on Anne's table. "For those of you who don't know," He began informatively, "there was a certain..._incident_...at Glenbrook North this weekend. The senior and junior powder puff football teams held a meeting without their teacher sponsors, and instead of practicing, the seniors hazed the juniors by dousing them in paint and smearing feces into their faces." Those who had not heard gasped in horror. Syd's face twisted in disgust. "Charges have been filed against the captain of the team. You know the stupid thing? They invited some senior male football players. On of 'em brought a camera and _taped it._

"That's all I know. Was there a new development, Vicky?"

"Not exactly," Jamie Mathers interjected, her usually meek voice raising sharply. She gripped the edge of the table with livid white knuckles and gestured wildly with the other. "On Mancow's morning radio show today, some listener likened the girls to a gang, and said they should be punished like one. Then someone else called in and was like, 'Well, send them to Glenfield, and they can find out what real gangs are like.'"

This started up the conversations again, and Tressaut had to bang his book on the table multiple times for them to silence. "You don't have to raise your hands," He admonished, "but one at a time."

In the raised commotion, Syd remained quiet in confusion. Glenfield _was_ notorious for its gangs; that was the reason the CIA was there. So why were the students so up in arms about this..._stereotype?_ It was correct...right?

"I can't believe some people are still so _dense!"_ Philip West cried out from the back corner of the room. "They think just because we're _Glenfield_, we're from the ghetto and stupid and poor and all in a gang."

"Angers North is _way_ worse than us," Jamie said emphatically. "They, like, come here and sell drugs to, like, give us the bad wrap. I know we have a few problems here and there, but just because we're, like, forty percent Hispanic—"

"Yeah. I think that's the problem," Anne spoke up, and the side babble ceased. One could literally hear a pin fall — one of the girls at Lara's table dropped one of her bobby pins and bent to pick it up. "Other schools in the DVC don't have diversity to the extent that we do: Angers North, Angers-Andersonville South...They're all predominantly white. With our ethnic make-up, there's bound to be some racial stereotyping.

"Whenever I go to a Forensics tournament and someone hears I'm from Glenfield, they say, 'I'm sorry.' But I'm not. We have some of the best teachers in the state, some of the smartest people in the state, and the best music department in, like, ever! Yeah, there are a few gangs, as there're bound to be, but just because there are a lot of Hispanics doesn't mean _everyone's_ in a gang. As much as we complain that they drive too slow or whatever, we love the Mexicans; they make us who we are, and deep down, we love them. I'd rather go here and know what it's like to live in the real world than go to Angers North and be 'protected' by Daddy's money."

Syd felt like she should applaud in the awed hush that followed Anne's little harangue. _'Forensics has done well for this girl,'_ She thought, nodding in mixed agreement and approval. _'White House, here she comes...'_

Tressaut smiled warmly down upon the senior. "Good. Now connect it to _Beowulf_."

"How?" Anne asked, looking slightly taken aback. "_Beowulf_ is an epic poem set in Anglo-Saxon-era Scandinavia about the origins of evil and dangers of excluding someone based on their ancestors and, oh, there it is..."

Their teacher smiled and rolled his eyes at the same time. "Well, _someone's_ obviously read it before. As for the rest of you, take a book and open up to the first page. And, no, you _don't_ have to read it in the original Old English..."

Sydney could not keep her mind on the book, though, despite the fact that she had read it three or four times prior and could practically recite it word for word. She kept drifting back to their previous conversation and just how _wrong_ she had been. If she truly thought about it, the only gang she ever heard of in school was the _Negro/Azuls_. This, of course, was no concrete evidence against the existence of other gangs, but it made one wonder...Was this school really as gang- and problem-ridden as Kendall and the CIA would have her believe? According to everyone else, _no_. They just had the misfortune of being the home base to the granddaddy of all gangs, the most notorious of them all. Besides the Mafia.

After the seriousness of first hour, her mood brightened considerably upon hearing rumors of an approaching blizzard. _('I really have to start watching the news. America's still a democracy, right?')_ She heard a wide range of snowfall estimates, anywhere from two inches to two feet. Teachers discouraged talk of a snow day for the most part, citing the unreliability of meteorologists and the "South of I-88 Rule." (Sydney shrugged). But Bretts ignited a spark of hope by relaying contingency plans, and even though they meant more homework, it was a small price to pay for fuel to the proverbial fire.

By tenth hour it had begun to snow. Anne, Syd, Weiss, and Vaughn took a different route to their classes second semester — to "change things up a bit" as Anne said — and a crowd gathered at the opposite end of the hall near a set of large windows. Seniors and freshmen alike had thrown open the screen-less panes and were attempting to catch quarter-sized snowflakes in their hands. One of the nearby Economics teachers exited her classroom to being lecturing the students and the freshmen scattered, but the seniors stuck around and argued with her until the two-minute bell beeped, and the four friends sprinted anxiously to tenth hour.

The next morning when Syd awoke, a foot and a half of snow blanketed the world outside her window.

Two words:

'_SNOW DAY!'_

She checked the listings on TV and the Internet just in case.

The undisturbed snow glittered dully in the light from her kitchen window, as the sky remained clouded over and still belched white flakes. Across the street (which had yet to be ploughed), her neighbors tried to dig their car out from under the whiteness, only succeeding in buying their vehicle even more. Eventually, they gave up and trooped back inside, presumably to call in sick for the day. Speaking of calling...

Despite the almost overwhelming urge to just go back to bed, Syd dug her cell phone out of her purse and was about to dial Vaughn's number when it began shrieking in her hand. She did not bother to glance at the caller I.D. — she knew only one person who would call her this early on a Friday snow day.

"Hi Dad."

"Sydney." Her father's brisk voice greeted her harshly and sent all notions of a warm bed (or a warm Vaughn) out of her consciousness. "Be at the Angers safe house by nine for an emergency meeting. I...I suspect you are capable of informing Agent Vaughn."

Smiling but stifling a giggle she replied, "He's not here, but I was just about to call him. Don't worry: we'll be there. _On time."_ She bit a knuckle to keep from laughing at his perturbed silence. "See you, Dad. Just as soon as I figure out how to work a snow blower." Hanging up, she tossed the phone at the couch and released her pent-up giddiness. But as her laughter quieted, a loud whirring started up from her driveway. Syd rushed to the window in her front door and nearly melted at the sight before her.

In the gradually lifting darkness, Sydney saw Vaughn bundled up like a child in multiple layers, a scarf, hat, snow pants, gloves, and large boots. The only visible skin was around his eyes. He paraded up and down her driveway while pushing an orange snow blower that hurled the white stuffs about twenty feet in the air. Looking past him to the road, she could see the zigzagging path where he had dragged the machine.

As quickly as possible, Syd bundled herself up and ran out through the garage, tackling him into the snow he had yet to remove. They laughed as she sat squarely on his chest and kissed his red nose protruding over the edge of his scarf; she tucked it back under immediately after.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She cried blithely, breath condensing and floating away on the brisk wind.

"What does it look like?" He answered with his accent, just in case. "I came to dig you out. California Barbies do not know about _la neige."_

"You mean, this is snow?" She joked, forming a snowball with her bare hands. "I thought this was just a lot of — whoa, never mind. I think I was channeling Anne for a second."

The corners of Vaughn's eyes crinkled as he smiled behind his clothing. "_Bon._ Now, please get off. I must finish."

"Yeah, yeah, of course." She rolled off her boyfriend and flapped her appendages around in a crude imitation of a snow angel as Vaughn restarted the snow blower. Only when he threatened to run her over did she rise and scamper into the warm confines of her house.

She showered and readied herself for the meeting while Vaughn labored away, and when he finally trooped inside, she sat ready for him at the kitchen table with a mug of hot cocoa and two marshmallows — just the way he liked it. They discussed possible topics for the meeting while he thawed, but a shrill ring pierced through their conversation.

"Anne." "Weiss." They predicted at the same time.

"Dinner tonight?" Vaughn bet. They shook on it, and Syd raced to discover her cell phone in the couch cushions before the caller hung up.

"Hello?" She breathed heavily into the phone. A sudden burst of noise caused her to pull away abruptly. "Why, hello, Anne," She replied, pointedly glaring at Vaughn, and he threw back his head in defeat. "What's up?" The over-excited girl began gushing rapidly, and Syd only caught a few phrases here and there. Becoming increasingly confused, she cut off her friend by saying. "Anne! Slow down! Only dogs can hear you, now."

She sighed on the other end and took an audible breath. "Since it's a snow day — _YAY!_ — a bunch of us are going skating on State Street in Chicago and then to Joe's house for a snowball fight. Wanna come? It'll be major fun."

Sydney bit her lip and glanced at the still-pouting Vaughn uncertainly. He perked up and questioned her with a glance. Another hurried silent conversation ensued, and Anne became impatient on the other end of the line.

"Hey, I know Michael can be a great distraction, but _I'm the important one right now!"_

Chuckling shortly, Syd allowed herself a last look at Vaughn before replying, "Sorry. Um, we can't go. My parents finally pinned me down and want Michael and me to fly out to New York so they can meet him."

Anne groaned, "You're kidding me! You'll be gone all _weekend_, then? Damn. At least I have Greg: he promised me dinner tomorrow night."

Syd let the comment slide on account of her guilt and apologized yet again before hanging up and replacing the phone in her purse. Vaughn sighed and beckoned her to sit in his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around her disappointed frame. "This is _not_ cool," He summed up ever so gracefully. "Our one unscheduled day off in _EVER_, and we probably have to spend it with _your father._ The universe is against us."

"Don't be so negative," She rebuked, playfully slapping his shoulder. "Just think of it this way: you get to cook dinner for me tonight!"

He glared at her and deadpanned, "Yay. There's a party in my head right now."

The couple arrived at the safe house surprisingly on time. They ran into Weiss in the stairwell, and Vaughn asked as they ascended, "What do you think this is about? Think it's our regular Friday debrief or what?"

"I had to turn down Anne's invitation," Weiss muttered angrily, ignoring his friend's question as he kept his gaze on the dusty steps. "She was really disappointed. This had better be good."

"Don't worry, Agent Weiss," Jack said from the top of the stairs, "it will be."

He ushered them into the attic room with a disapproving glare at Weiss. Sydney quickly took her seat, and as soon as she looked up she gasped. "Will!"

One of her best friends smiled down at her from a screen on the wall behind the head of the table. He nodded at the other agents as they took seats as well. "Hey guys. How's it going?"

"Why don't you tell us, Will?" Dixon countered, folding his hands on top of the dingy surface.

Jack took his place at the head of the table, turning his back to Will. "Kendall knows of the most recent development and wishes to send us on yet another mini-mission." He sat and turned his chair to face the screen and waited patiently.

Will straightened in his chair and opened a manila folder on the desk in front of him. "Right. Now since Jack called us about The Insider — nice work, by the way, Sydney—" She blushed in appreciation, and Vaughn squeezed her hand under the table "—I've been going over all the records, and there _was_ one brief reference to her. About four years ago, to be exact." He began reading from a paper. "'A short woman with red hair referred to only as The Insider stood beside Calleros and acted as a member of the gang."

"What kind of red?" Syd interjected quickly. "Fire engine or auburn?"

He looked again, scanning the document quickly. "It doesn't say."

Syd sank back into her chair slightly disappointed. She had no idea _why_ she asked, but...

"Anyway, we received credible intel stating that Sark will be at his compounded in Colombia this weekend along with this Insider woman. Therefore, we want you guys—" He offered a reassuring smile to the six agents "—to go and scope them out, see if you can pick up anything worthwhile."

Weiss and Vaughn groaned loudly, earning a reproachful glare from Jack. "Sorry," Weiss apologized. "We're still in character. Continue."

Will tried to make his wink covert, but only succeeded in failing miserably. "You'll leave from O'Hare in two hours. Any fatigues, weapons, or surveillance equipment will be supplied on the plane. Jack and Marshall, you'll be on comms; Dixon, Weiss, Vaughn, and Syd, you're on point. No covers necessary; this is a covert operation. Any questions?"

'_I can't believe this is WILL talking to us, briefing us on a _mission...!_ Amazing! I'm so proud of him.'_

"No," Jack answered, slightly clipped. He rose again and faced the room. "Floor plans will be detailed en route. Wheels up in _two hours;_ don't be late." He flickered his gaze to his daughter and her boyfriend for a fraction of a split second. "You're dismissed."

Everyone bolted for the door at once, and in the confusion of coats, scarves, and body parts, Vaughn somehow found Sydney's arm and pulled her aside for a moment until they could pass down the stairwell alone. "So much for dinner," She said, her arm wrapping around his waist.

He shook his head in mock sadness. "Damn. And I was so looking forward to burning down your kitchen tonight. Another time, maybe?"

"No," She answered hastily. "There are better ways for you to fulfill your obligations."

**

* * *

**

"I can't believe I haven't been on an airplane in over...three months!"

"You miss it at all?"

A pause. "No, not really."

"Do you always go and visit your parents, Jane?"

"Not always, but occasionally they invite me or I ask if I can come. You know, if they're going someplace interesting."

"Can I go with you next time? _Please_, Jane?"

Another pause. "I'll see what I can do." Vaughn began tugging at her sleeve. "Wanna talk to Michael? Okay, here ya go." Sydney handed over the cell phone to her boyfriend and turned away as he began babbling in French. Syd had called Anne in a fit of boredom — after she convinced her father it would be all right — and her friend consented to converse despite being in the middle of ice skating in Chicago; Syd could hear the crappy "lite" rock playing in the background. Weiss nearly climbed into her lap when he heard Anne's name and demanded (in sign language) to know whether Henry was with her. He was, but at the moment he had been involved in a massive conga line at the other end of the rink.

Dressed and equipped for drop-off, the agents sprawled in various positions around the cabin. Jack and Dixon played magnetic chess while trying to ignore Marshall's suggestions. Vaughn had been helping Sydney with her American History homework before she developed a particularly debilitating case of Senioritis and decided to quit. Weiss played games on his calculator. All were waiting — waiting for the plane to touch down in a remote clearing near Bogota, Colombia, where they would then take two vans into the heart of the Columbian Amazon about one hundred miles outside of Puerta Miraña. Four fully-stocked shoulder bags crouched on unused chairs, each loaded with a flashlight, extra batteries, an AK-47 (for Weiss and Dixon), extra ammo, an M-16 (for Syd and Vaughn), extra clips, a lock-picking kit, flares, and various other spy nick-knacks Marshall thought to include. They memorized blueprints, floor plans, maps of the estate, and any contingency plans.

And Vaughn was talking to a high school about a snowball fight, Syd and Weiss hanging on every word.

As they began their decent, Sydney and Vaughn issued Anne a hurried good-bye while everyone gathered his or her belongings and Jack reminded them of the plan.

"Marshall and I will park our van just on the edge of the forest," Jack stated, checking his pocket for the keys for a third time. "Dixon and Weiss, you'll go to the field's watershed monitor and infect it with the iocane powder provided in your packs. That will give the illusion of a large-scale drought. Vaughn and Sydney, you will infiltrate Sark's compound through an underground entrance and make your way around to the control room to garner the security codes — Marshall and I will loop camera feeds from the can. Then ascend to his library and see if you can find any information. Got it? Let's go."

The mission itself blurred in Sydney's mind: countless nondescript hallways, bruises, cuts, new clips. One single event monopolized the memory of that mission.

She and Vaughn had gathered papers from Sark's library and study (they decided the extra two minutes was worth it when they found a payroll list) and were making their way through the labyrinthine corridors to the rendezvous point outside. Weiss communicated his and Dixon's success in sabotaging the fields, and Jack underlined the need to pull out with a few sharp words. Syd and Vaughn, being on the second floor of the compound, said they would need about three minutes, and promptly began to scurry down the hall.

She heard voices up ahead, so they flattened against the wall and crept along as quickly as they dared. Their hallway opened into an indoor balcony around a lobby-like room with a two-story-high ceiling. It gave off the distinct impression of an old, musky hotel. Sydney successfully resisted the urge to peek over the edge of the solid stucco railing and, grabbing her bag tightly, lead the way towards the nearest staircase. But as they were about to descend, those voices rose, and Sydney was able to distinguish their genders — one male and one female. The man — obviously Sark — relayed unintelligible information to the (young) woman.

Nothing spectacular.

Until Sydney heard something — a familiar lilt of the woman's voice, a particular word, a laugh — that made her pause.

Slowly, so that she would not be noticed, she left Vaughn at the top of the stairs and crouched down behind the short wall. Curling her fingers around the lip, she lifted her head until her eyes peeked over and down into the pit.

Sark stood by a computer station with his back to Sydney, gesticulating to the screens pointedly.

The woman faced her and stood in plain view, her auburn-red hair braided and draping over her shoulder. Freckles stood out against her paler than normal face as she smiled maliciously.

A smile that glared back at her every day in English.

Sydney gasped in delayed recognition.

Lara Andropov.

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Cupid Gone Rogue  
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Government Simulation **

Please don't maim me.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	26. Cupid Gone Rogue

**Yay! Fast turnarounds are fun... **

**Chapter Genre: **Ready for another roller coaster ride? (In the middle of January? Yep.) Fluffy fluff then angsty angst.

**This Chapter: **Fallout from the Lara revelation, a surprise during Chemistry, and Valentine's Day.

**Suggested Soundtrack: **Even if you can't obtain these songs, read the lyrics... "Easier to Run" by Linkin Park, "Here" by Luce, "Ready to Fall" by Meredith Edwards, and turn off everything for the end. Just sit in silence and read. Sometimes that's more effective than any song lyric.

**Author's Note: **Remember when I said everything had a purpose? All that stuff comes back to bite you in the ass right about now...Enjoy...

**

* * *

**

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Cupid Gone Rogue**

"Get me Hernandez on the phone! And Agents Malone and Sterne! Where are we with getting Tippin and Kendall? Well keep trying! We need two — _two_ — uplinks, one to L.A. and one to Chicago. Damn it, the one time we need Hernandez and he isn't jumping down our throats..."

Jack sprinted out of the room to fiddle with wires.

"Are you sure you saw _Lara Andropov?"_

"Yes."

"Really sure?"

"_Yes."_

"Really, _really_ sure?"

"I'm not five years old, Weiss; I know what I saw!"

A comforting hand on her own. "We both saw her, Eric. She looked a little different, but it was definitely Lara."

"Different how?"

"_She looked evil."_ Syd sighed in defeat. She hardly spoke on the plane back to the States (she let Vaughn say everything), but now that they resided in the safe house in Angers, everything changed. Weiss, Dixon, and even Marshall pumped the couple for all the information they gathered. Her father would have joined them, but he was too busy trying to contact Kendall, Will, and the Chicago agents all at the same time. He had to pull Dixon and Marshall away form the interrogation to focus on the task at hand.

After recognizing Lara in the compound, Sydney began to boil like grease, wishing she could bubble over and spill onto the 'teenager,' peeling flesh from bone. Vaughn came to retrieve her, but upon seeing his ex-girlfriend, nearly jumped off the balcony himself. Somehow they managed to coax each other back from the brink and arrived at the rendezvous point only slightly late.

Vaughn divulged everything about an hour from Chicago.

The questioning had not stopped since.

The fact was, during that time, Sydney probably could not have formed a coherent sentence if she wanted to. Her shock overwhelmed her. Yes, Syd always hated the girl — arbitrarily labeled her 'evil' for Anne's sake — but she never thought how right she was. In the back of her mind, she entertained the thought that_ Anne_ could have been an agent, maybe even The Insider, but Lara...! And now she felt immensely guilty about not thinking of it the other way around, about suspecting Anne.

Her best friend in high school, and Sydney let the doubt seep into her heart. Had she really become that mistrusting, that callous? Her mind said yes. In order for Sydney to excel at her job — in order for her to stay _alive_ — she needed to suspect everyone around her. But it was Anne! She felt comfortable around the girl (woman?), perhaps too comfortable for Sydney's taste.

'_Therefore something has to be wrong, huh?'_ She rebuked herself harshly. _'Why can't you just accept something good when it comes your way? God, I'm going to have a helluva time at school on Monday. Think it's too much to hope for another snow day?'_

A man cleared his throat, startling her from her musings. She glanced towards the large screen, and both Will and Kendall (looking extremely haggled) glared down at her. Will tried to smile, but Sydney knew all too well Kendall's power to zap any kind of happiness from a room.

She prepared for major zapping.

Jack, Dixon, and Marshall strode into the room with a speakerphone, which the latter connected almost instantaneously. The utterly confused voice of Deputy Director Hernandez issued forth, muttering mingled Spanish and English expletives. Kendall cleared his throat again, and this time Herny immediately stopped, waiting in strained silence.

"We could only get Hernandez on the phone," Jack explained. "Agents Malone and Sterne are on assignment in Spain, and the satellite feed won't seem to cooperate tonight."

"Good," Kendall said, a signal that _he_ was taking over the debrief. "Now what the hell is going on?" Every agent started talking at once but Sydney, who almost slumped down in her seat to avoid being noticed. A sadistic grin overcame Kendall's countenance, and she audibly groaned as he said, "Agent Bristow. You're unusually quiet. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Practically sneering at him, she straightened up and folded her hands on the table. "On our way to rendezvous with the team, Agent Vaughn and I stumbled upon Mister Sark briefing someone on profit margins. He referred to this woman as The Insider, and I immediately recognized her as GCHS senior Lara Andropov." The words stung her mouth like a thousand angry bees.

"My question is," Weiss interjected, "is Lara really seventeen?"

"No," Hernandez answered from the speakerphone. "She's eighteen."

"According to our sources," Will expanded, shuffling a few papers about, "Miss Andropov really is a teenager. Sark recruited her in eighth grade and decided to use her as a behind-the-scenes force in the gang, basically for PR and drugs deals."

"And why didn't we know this before tonight?" Vaughn asked, annoyed.

"Oh, I've got that one," Hernandez called. All eyes turned to the small piece of plastic absurdly, as if Herny could actually see them.

"Well, since Jack called Deputy Director Kendall and Deputy Director Kendall called me, I've contacted every member of the Vice Lords on file and made them do some digging. Long story short, King Troy's pardon agreement is being reviewed as we speak."

Rolling his eyes overtly at his Chicago counterpart, Kendall returned his attention to Sydney. "Were either of you seen?"

"No," Syd and Vaughn answered in unison. Syd continued, "We hid behind the ledge until we deemed it safe to leave. Neither of them saw nor heard us."

"Glad to know you've done something right," He rebuked, crossing his arms over his chest haughtily. "Agent Vaughn, you know you'll be under review for this, right?"

This startled almost everyone. _"What?"_ Vaughn ground out, absolutely incensed. He gripped the table with white knuckles and sweaty palms. "What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

"Your aborted assignment," Jack replied calmly. He swiveled in his chair to face his field team. Vaughn immediately sat back down, his face paling to the colour of his knuckles as realization dawned on him. Sydney still stared about in utter confusion. Her father continued, "I assigned you to Lara for a reason, and you did not deem it necessary to follow through. Perhaps if you had not been so blinded by emotions, you would have seen the method behind my supposed madness. Instead, you sent us to a locksmith when you already had the keys. Be grateful a review is all you're getting after such an inexcusable lapse in judgment."

"DAD!" Syd yelled, brow knotting in consternation. But even as she grappled to produce sufficient words in her boyfriend's defense, guilt corroded her esophagus. Syd pressured him into discarding his mini-mission; he had almost absolutely no blame in the matter. (She knew she could be very persuasive when she tried.) If she had not let the Green Monster overcome her and cloud her emotions...Who knows what could have happened? Could they have captured Sark? Could they have taken down the _Negro/Azuls_? Could they be back home in L.A.? Could Anne and her friends be safer if Vaughn had followed through?

Everything rested on her already crowded shoulders.

Will warned them, urged them to continue on, but she stubbornly refused, wanting to keep her boyfriend entirely to herself.

And now they suffered the consequences.

It was probably too late to rectify; why would Lara want Vaughn back now, even if it did mean causing Jane pain?

It just...She just...They were..._'Shit.'_

The debrief continued at a fast pace, leaving Sydney to barely tread water in the shallow section. She merely sat in silence as they decided not to do anything drastic just yet; Herny volunteered a team of agents for surveillance, but Sydney's attention flew back out again.

That Monday at school felt like her own personal Hell. Or a root canal. Without anesthetic. Faced with Anne's cheery face and animated stories about how Henry managed to get a snowball past three layers of clothing, Sydney reverted even further into herself. How could she ever believe Anne — sweet, bubbly, effervescent Anne — would be involved with Sark? Every time Anne's short, loud laugh echoed throughout Senior Hall, a knife dived into her gut and twisted three-hundred-sixty degrees.

English class was even worse. Having to sit next to her, and then see _her, _the traitorous bitch across the room, made Sydney want to throw up almost continuously. Lara laughed and babbled on about how Beowulf must have been so hot back in his day, and Syd fought hard to hide her scowl in her book. The only good things to come out of English class: one, she realized Lara did not wear her retainer when not in high school (hence why Syd could not immediately recognize The Insider's voice); two, she saw Tressaut place a tracking device on her shoulder.

'_The Malones must be part of the surveillance team. Well, I guess that's good...'_

On her way into the band room, a hand grabbed her and pulled her into the uniform room. Her elbow swung out halfway before she saw who pulled her in. "Anne! God, you scared the crap outta me!'

The girl offered a half smile and nervously clutched at her purse. "Sorry. But I need to know: what the hell is up with you?"

Sydney, taken aback, remained silent for a moment, leaning against the ignored organ. She allowed her internal confusion to show, but could not decide what to be confused about. Anything would do, really: whether to divulge anything, why they were there, what Anne asked about, whether birds had vocal chords..."Huh?"

Exasperation briefly strummed across her face as she replied, "You've been avoid-y all day! Well, even though it's only second hour, but you get it...What's your deal? Did I say something?" She gasped. "Did something happen with you and Michael? Is Lara back in the picture?"

"Oh, _God_, no!" Syd answered impulsively, literally cringing at that girl's name. "She's so out of the picture, she's...she's in the next gallery!"

"Good. Now what the hell is up?"

"It's just...It's just..." Syd fumbled for words. She never expected Anne to call her on the distance. "My parents," She finally spit out. "They're jumping down my throat about _everything:_ colleges, scholarships, grades. I've half a mind to just take off for a year."

A second more of Anne's piercing gaze passed before she replied, "Yeah, I completely know what you mean. I'd backpack through Europe for a year just to see the look on my mom's face when I told her. 'WHAT! You're not wasting a year of your life just so you can hitchhike and get some fresh air! What about Harvard? Or _Georgetown?'"_

"Were you accepted?" Syd asked, eager to spin away from their previous conversation. The final bell rang, and the pair strolled slowly down the music department hallway towards the band room.

"Not yet. I'm not worried, though. I spent an entire month working on my essays, so..."

Needless to say, everything eventually settled down, like confetti after New Year's Eve.

Syd and the other student/agents gradually readjusted to non-finals school, and when they flipped the calendar to February, they flipped the Prom switch. Talk of Prom increased dramatically during the first two weeks leading up to Valentine's Day — a rumor magnet in itself. While cupid went rogue, girls clustered around book-thick dress, shoe, and accessory magazines while guys circled as far away as possible, regarding them with cautious worry. Sydney believed it too early to even _think_ about Prom ("It's in _May."_ "So? Your point?") let alone plan elaborate hairdos and after parties.

Even though they all planned to finish their mission before the Prom, the agents allowed the hype to swallow them whole like a snake digests a mouse. Syd began dropping overt hints to Vaughn as to just how she wanted to be asked to Prom. (He and the other guys around him would practically choke on their Adam's Apples.) Unlike Homecoming, Anne cared about having a date, and quickly became agitated over whether someone would ask her in time. She admitted she had a guy in mind, but she absolutely refused to spill the name, and although she asked her junior Prom date, the thought of asking her senior Prom date would not be entertained.

"Someone just _has_ to ask me," She blurted while walking with Syd, Vaughn, and Weiss to Chemistry one day during the week before Valentine's Day. "Just _once_ in my high school career I want someone to ask me to a dance. And I'd like it to be really cute and sweet. Not that I'm being picky or anything..."

Weiss smiled slightly but shoved his hands in his sweatshirt pocket.

The warning bell beeped, and all four rushed into their Chemistry room. Jack immediately handed over his computer to Anne and Weiss; they were making a presentation about buffers in front of the class. (Syd and Vaughn went the day before.) They shuffled papers around in preparation.

"No, I copied the Power Point to Student Files," Eric instructed as Anne attempted to fit a disk into the drive.

The bell rang, and Jack turned on the television on his way to the back of the room. "All right, ladies and...the rest of you, Anne and Greg are going to talk to us today about buffers. Let's hope there's no inappropriate pictures. Get up your notes — this will all (hopefully) be on the test."

Weiss stood behind the desk and clapped his hands. "As good Mister Tull said, we're gonna talk about buffers, kiddies. Did you bring the Magic Rug, Anne?"

"I can't even get this damn Power Point open," She grumbled. "Where'd you put it?"

"It's really not that hard, Anne," He admonished, leaning over her and guiding her hand upon the mouse. On the screen, everyone could view their search. Weiss opened up the Student Files folder on the school's server. He scrolled down through the literally thousands of folders until he found one labeled _'buffity buff buff buff buffers.'_ "Go to it, buddy," He said, barely suppressing a smile. Sydney looked on in wary caution.

From the television screen, the entire class could track her progress. After opening the first folder, Anne continued to double-click on folder after folder, creating a veritable maze of windows. She and the class began to get frustrated, but Weiss's impish grin kept them from lashing out. (Syd could tell her father was getting impatient: he frowned and folded his hands in his lap.)

After the seventh folder, their names began to make a sentence. Sydney squinted to read them.

'_Anne...'_

'_I'_

'_Have'_

'_A'_

'_Question'_

'_For'_

'_You'_

She stopped suddenly, mouse poised over the _'You'_ folder, and glared at Weiss with wide eyes. Hope radiated across the room.

"Go on," He prompted, practically bursting.

In the last folder sat a single Word file entitled _'click here (last one, I swear)'_. The only words on the page inside read in exuberant red font:

'_Anne: will you go to Prom with me? — Greg'_

"You said you wanted cute and sweet," He murmured. She merely blinked at him, presumably too shocked to talk. Eric became nervous, fidgeting in his spot behind Jack's desk. "Oh, God, you're gonna say no. No, that's all right. I shouldn't have asked in front of the entire class. Peer pressure's good, but not that go—OD!"

Anne had tackled him, and they disappeared behind the desk amid Anne's squeals and exclamations of "Yes! YES!" (Which, taken out of context, would have sent Sydney back there with a long, pointy stick.)

All the girls awed and clapped while the guys sighed and slumped in their chairs. Syd even thought she heard one guy mutter, "Thanks, Stone. You've ruined it for the rest of us."

Another student actually raised his hand and asked, "Mister Tull? Will this be on the test?"

Figuring he had let the spectacle run its course, Jack pushed off the counter and boomed, "Is that your actual presentation, or do we actually get to learn about buffers today?"

Anne and Weiss reappeared again simultaneously, each with matching face-splitting grins. Weiss took over the computer and began closing the multitude of windows. "Yeah, it's on the disk. Hold on a sec." Anne took her place in front of the TV with a meter stick, and they proceeded presenting their topic, but with noticeably wandering attentions.

In the middle of everything, Syd jabbed Vaughn in the side and whispered, "Hey! Are we going out on Valentine's Day?"

After a glance at Jack he replied, "I was planning on it. I made reservations for two at Olive Garden. Why?"

"Can we make them for four? I want to invite Anne and Weiss."

Vaughn glanced at her in confusion. "I though you didn't approve of this — this whatever they have? Is this invitation out of guilt?"

"NO!" She answered, a bit too quick. "Maybe. Kind of. Oh, come on! That was just _too_ cute!" She glared at him pointedly out of the corner of her eye.

"Oh!" He literally sat up straighter and covertly covered her hand with his on the tabletop. "Hey, do you want to go to Prom with me?"

"Sure," She answered, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"And can we tell Anne I came up with some elaborate robot-thing to ask you?"

"Knock yourself out. But you're coming up with it; I'm not telling you how I wanted to be asked."

"What? Oh, come on! How am I supposed to top _that?"_

"—Said every high school male _ever."_

After class, Syd stopped Anne and Weiss before they trooped downstairs for tenth hour. Their grins had yet to wear off. "Guys!" She called down the hall, noticing their hands snapped to their own pockets. "Michael and I are goin' to Olive Garden on Valentine's Day. Do you wanna double?"

They glanced nervously at one another, trying desperately to gauge the other's thoughts. Weiss finally offered a short nod, and Anne's smile grew even wider (if possible). "Yeah. Just tell us the time we'll be there. The one by Stratford Square Mall, right?"

"Yeah. Michael will tell Greg the details, 'cause I'm not supposed to know a lot yet." Syd smiled before leaning in close to Anne's ear. "Congratulations," She whispered with a wink. Her friend squeezed her hand in response, and the three parted ways as the warning bell beeped.

**

* * *

**

Syd sipped her ice water, desperately wishing it would turn into her favorite Merlot, and glanced towards the door for the thousandth time. Vaughn squeezed her hand instinctively, not even looking up from his menu. They sat cloistered in a corner of the Olive Garden, anxiously checking watches and waving away waiters.

Anne and Weiss were late.

Well, not _really_ late. Just band-style-late, but it was getting close to regular-late as well, and Sydney began worrying. So, try as she might, she could not keep her eyes from flicking to the crowded doorway or her hand from twisting the hell out of her cloth napkin. Vaughn merely buried his head in the menu and kept his cell phone on and within reach.

Finally the couple in question pushed their way through the milling masses, Anne leading Weiss by the hand. For once, she swapped her lettermen's jacket for a knee-length wool coat, effectively setting the mood for the evening. Her bright pink cheeks and nose told of the bitter cold just outside, and she reluctantly let Weiss take her coat before pulling out her chair. "You know I wouldn't let you do that unless I liked you so much," She whispered, meaning for only Weiss to hear, so Sydney hid her smile behind her glass. "Sorry we're late," She explained, voice louder. "Someone did something stupid on the tracks, so they had the entire crossing at Sugarville Road blocked off. We had to take a different route, and 'cause this guy drives like an old woman, we hit every red light. I'm not even kidding; I counted 'em."

"Hello to you, too," Syd greeted, noting the bemused grin on Vaughn's face. "Did you see what happened on the tracks?"

"No," Anne replied with a sigh, gratefully taking the menu Weiss handed her. "Probably just some stupid kid who decided to put a spray can on the rails, a train ran over it, and it blew up. It's happened before." She grinned broadly. "Anyway, did you guys order yet?" Noticing the tennis bracelet on Sydney's wrist she commented, "Ohmigod, did Michael buy that for you? Finally! You're putting your drug money to good use!"

Her small wink did nothing to heal over the gigantic fissure in normality she created, tearing all three student/agents from their cozy non-reality reality.

Syd, Vaughn, and Weiss all gulped.

'_Is this going to be one of _those_ nights? Like the one in Nice, where we said every unnecessary thing and tiptoed around what needed to be said? Great. Now I'll be thinking about the mission all night instead of enjoying it with my boyfriend and two best friends. But who knows? Maybe we can squeeze something out of Anne yet...'_

Each agent seemed to follow Sydney's thought process exactly.

They ordered, and the conversation quickly turned to Prom. "Yeah, this year's going to be _amazing_," Anne emphasized, swirling the water in her glass. "Even though the junior class is practically broke, and Jeff — the Student Council president — couldn't persuade them to get a boat, and we're stuck at the Carlisle again with a dance floor the _size of my thumbnail!"_

"Bitter much?" Weiss asked sarcastically, an eyebrow arched in amusement.

Syd gave him a Look, and Vaughn kicked him under the table. The latter turned back to Anne and questioned in his thick accent, "What are we doing for zis Prom?"

Her face positively illuminated in excitement. "Well, we're taking pictures at the in Sugarville across the street from the Elementary School; no one ever goes there, and it was practically deserted last year. We're planning on renting two limos — John knows a guy — and you're welcome to join us if you like. I think it's only, like, ten bucks per person 'cause John gets a discount. Of course, you'll sign up to sit at our table for dinner." She glanced quickly at her date, her smile widening noticeably. "And this year we're going to Joe and Allyson's for a bonfire/sleep over instead of going to the school-sponsored All Night Long. Y'all are invited, but if you don't come with us, _don't_ go to All Night Long; it's not fun _at all."_

Red flags and light bulbs popped and lit up respectively over each agent's head. This piqued Sydney's interest. Their salad and bread sticks arrived then, so she guarded her language with extra precautionary measures. "Why was it so crappy? Activities? Lack thereof? People?" She practically held her breath in response.

Anne hid her pause with munching on a bread stick. Cogs turned, balances reached equilibrium, as she thought over just how much to divulge. "Well," She stalled, "the DDR was amazing, but the people...it just wasn't worth it. Joe and Allyson's party will be _so_ much cooler—"

"Oh, come on!" Syd cried before she could check herself. "Why don't you just tell us what you mean? Why don't you just tell us that Lara was there, and she ruined your night? Why don't you just tell us what happened freshman year?" Her mini-outburst left her short of breath and extremely remorseful. Could she possibly be that stupid as to practically blow their cover by asking too many questions?

Only Anne's vocal venom surpassed her pained facial expression. "You _know_ I don't like talking about it. Why do you insist on bringing it up! _God!_" Tears began to well along the brim of her lower lids. "Way to ruin a great night. Excuse me for a minute." She rose and escaped hastily to the bathroom.

Silence followed in her wake. Syd, Weiss, and Vaughn glanced at each other, unsure of what to do. Syd and Vaughn had a brief silent conversation, then turned on Weiss expectantly. "Are you kidding me?" He replied incredulously. _"I_ didn't break this. For once, something isn't my fault. Plus," He added logically, "I can't go in there; it's a _girls'_ bathroom."

"Syd, you're up," Vaughn tacked on, grinning at her in bemusement.

She groaned inwardly, but grabbed her purse all the same. Pushing open the bathroom door, she found Anne pacing awkwardly in front of the stalls, hand continuously wiping at her nose with a wad of toilet paper. "Sorry," She croaked upon spotting Syd. "You know how I like to make a scene." Her friend nodded and smiled ruefully. "I'm really not that mad at you. I mean, I completely understand where you're coming from. But you need to understand where _I'm_ coming from. Talking about Lara...it dredges up some stuff that should just really stay buried. Anyway, you don't wanna hear about my baggage and shit, especially not tonight." She sniffled again and wiped her red nose on the toilet paper before tossing it in a trashcan. Peering earnestly up at Syd, she asked hesitantly, "Does Greg hate me for being so...stupid? Sensitive? _Girly?"_

Her friend nearly laughed at the thought. "No way, Anne!" She exclaimed. "He's known you for months; he's seen many a Anne outburst. I think he knew what he was getting into when he asked you out."

Anne bit her lip and smiled uncertainly. "Okay, if you say so. God, I don't know what I'd do without you, Jane. You're such a great friend."

And the knife twisted again.

Syd did her duty and blushed as she led the pair back out into the restaurant, but inside she beat herself over the head with a baseball bal. This girl obviously trusted her explicitly, and she reciprocated with thinking she was an internationally wanted terrorist! _'Some great friend you are, Syd.'_

During the interim their food arrived, and soon enough their ears filled with scraping forks and chewing teeth. Their conversation was strained at first, but as soon as Weiss cracked his first joke about Syd and Vaughn ("Dude, keep your hands to yourself. I don't want my eyes to burn for a week"), the ease and grace of normalcy returned.

When they finished, Vaughn and Weiss split the check between the two of them, despite Syd and Anne's numerous protestations. (Anne tried to tackle Vaughn while Syd tackled Weiss, but they crossed their signals and Syd leapt too early.) They opted for ice cream from the Oberweiss nearby instead of dessert from the Olive Garden, citing the dwindling thickness of their wallets.

"I still say if you let us pay our share, we could've _afforded_ white chocolate raspberry cheesecake," Syd admonished as they strolled along the nearly abandoned outdoor strip mall next to the restaurants, nursing various forms of ice cream.

Vaughn hugged her shoulders and explained, "She is bitter a little bit."

"I'll say," Weiss responded, earning a slap from his fellow female agent. He peered down at his date and wrapped his own arm about her shoulders, slowly, as if he thought himself covert enough for no one else to notice. She leaned into him for warmth but continued to lick at her chocolate ice cream cone. "I still can't believe you want ice cream in the middle of February. And worse! You've never been to Oberweiss! Come on, even Frenchie's been to Oberweiss."

Vaughn frowned to show he understood, but Anne kept meandering along, her left hand shoved deep into her pocket and her favourite scarf encircling her neck. Her lack of energy, let alone her lack of retort, served as a glaring red flag, and all three of them stopped in their tracks.

Weiss spun her around to face him, but she still averted her eyes. "Anne...What's up? Aren't you having fun?"

As soon as they stopped walking, Syd knew the problem. She peered at Anne anxiously, trying desperately to withhold all of her desperation. Maybe this would finally be it; she would tell her story, and every last wall would crumble between them. Well, almost every wall.

"It's because I'm from Sugarville. That's what I thought at first." The strength in Anne's voice surprised everyone, especially her. The ice cream cone stood forgotten, clutched tightly in her fist but resting at chest level. Syd silently urged her friend to continue, feeding her all necessary strength. Anne's eyes remained glued to the sidewalk as her breath curled around and rebounded back into her round, raw face. "There was this girl — Kate something-or-other from Glenfield — and I guess I took her slot on the roster. They all knew her and they all liked her, 'cause most of them were from Glenfield. Freshman year, that's all that matters: where you come from. It's your identity. And I was from Sugarville. The _only_ one from Sugarville.

"I thought it might be something else. Maybe 'cause I was in band — but, no, Lara was in band, too.

"Maybe 'cause I was fat — but, no, Charlotte Kohn was larger than me, and still started a number of games.

"Maybe 'cause I was smart — but how could they know that? I only had French with Margaret Ryders, and I didn't talk in class. I still don't.

"Maybe 'cause there was something about me they just didn't like. So I changed my personality — I imitated others to see if their attitudes changed. But they didn't, so I just gave up.

"Whatever the reason, they didn't like me. I thought I could deal with it; I mean, I had my band friends, and I still talked to a few of my middle school friends. I thought I was fine...

"Until games. Or practices. Or meetings. Or open gyms. They thought it was _hilarious_ to tell me the wrong times so I got there as soon as practice or open gyms ended. When we had practice after school, Coach Trundle let us put our bags in her car before she drove over. They would bring extra stuff so my catching equipment wouldn't fit, and I had to run to the field lugging this hockey-sized bag. When we had home games, they'd tell me to wear our full uniform, and then show up at school the next day in just the jersey.

"Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to walk down the hall in sliding shorts, shorts with 'Wildcats' across the butt, and stirrup socks, and then see a teammate with only a matching jersey? And they _laughed._ They didn't let me take my punishment silently. I could hear them shrieking through the ceilings.

"Again, I though I could handle it, I thought this was the worst it could get. _God,_ I didn't know how naive I was.

"Every Friday, the girls would get together at someone's house and hold a sleep over, a 'Pee Party' as they called it. If we lost a game earlier in the week, they'd steal a ball from that school, bring it to the Party, and pee on it one at a time behind some bushes. They they'd burn it. Smelled, awful, but they found it hilarious. They they'd go T-P some baseball players' houses who lived in the area.

"I was only invited to one of these, and I refused to participate in both the peeing and the T-P-ing. They seemed cool with it at the time — which should've been my first clue. We finally went to sleep at some ungodly hour — after playing Ouija Board and other stupid girly sleep over crap.

"When I woke up the next morning, I was so plastered I could hardly move. My entire body felt tingly and numb at the same time. The world blurred and bobbed. The slightest thing amused me so much, I couldn't stop laughing for an entire minute. The whole day's a blur, but I briefly remember my left forearm aching, and when I looked down, I saw a Blue's Clues Band-Aid: I laughed for _two_ minutes.

"One of 'em had drugged me during my sleep.

"I think it was heroin, but I can't be sure.

"I had no idea who it was, and I was definitely too scared to find out. They acted like nothing happened, and so did I.

"Despite all this, I still wanted to belong, I still wanted them to like me, if only just a little bit. So when they asked me to come to this meeting, I said I would. As a group, we took the train into Chicago and walked to this really crappy warehouse. We got around back by the truck docks, and there were a bunch of Mexicans standing around. They were flashing guns and knives, and I got really scared. Then this blonde guy jumped down from one of the doors, and Lara went to go talk to him. I knew something was wrong and I needed to get out of there fast, so I went along with everything for a while — the blonde guy was passing out something — but then I snuck off inside and tried to make a run for the front door.

"The next thing I remember, I woke up in Lara's basement with many painful but hideable bruises and a very large headache." Anne paused for a moment, taking a solid bite of her ice cream. "That's it. That's what happened freshman year. That's why I will never play softball again. Are you happy now?"

As Weiss hugged Anne to him, rubbing her back soothingly, Sydney nearly collapsed in horror. Not only did she just force her friend to relive the most harrowing experiences of her young life, but Syd realized something.

If this exact moment had happened a hell of a lot earlier, almost none of the mini-missions would have been necessary.

They would have known Lara was a part of this.

If only they had asked Anne earlier.

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

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**_

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Government Simulation  
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Spring Break! **

Moral of the chapter: overlook nothing.

And going Dutch is a good thing.

Again, please don't maim me.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	27. Government Simulation

**Why would I change something now? Sheesh... **

**This Chapter: **Some heavy stuff before some Government fun before yet _another_ revelation. Aren't you guys tired of those yet?

**Chapter Genre: **Sad, then mission-y, then a bit stressed. Bipolar anyone?

**Suggested Soundtrack: **"Hallelujah" by Rufus Wainwright, "Cry Ophelia" by Adam Cohen, and "Figured You Out" by Nickelback.

**Author's Note:** We've passed the 200-page mark!

**

* * *

**

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Government Simulation**

Anne's _interesting_ revelation sparked an immense fallout, not only in their relationship, but with the CIA as well. Because they learned their lesson, Sydney and Vaughn called Jack immediately and explained the situation. After uttering a few choice expletives, Jack promised to look into it and hung up. Twenty minutes later, when Vaughn and Syd were readying for bed, their doorbell rang followed by ferocious pounding. The couple raced to the door only to find an aggravated Weiss and disgruntled Jack. The latter forced his way into the house and, upon nearly throwing Weiss down on the couch, demanded to know "anything and everything remotely NEAR the realm of relevant."

This session ended up being a gigantic waste of time, merely yet another two hours where Jack reprimanded them for not following up on loose ends. But when he mentioned the word 'investigation,' all three agents looked up sharply. He explained the CIA wanted a full investigation of Anne Lawson, including a twenty-four-hour tail.

Jack held up surprisingly well, considering all three agents had conniptions.

But in the end they all caved, believing it was all for her own good. Obviously, Anne could handle her own — Sydney saw this more than ever — but she did not think her friend capable of taking on Sark, her mother, and whatever organization with which they were now involved. Anne was strong...but not that strong.

Which was why Syd only shrugged upon seeing Anne Monday morning. Her locker stood open, and her friends circled around it, but Anne stood around the corner with a group of girls Syd had seen but did not know. The agent peered at Weiss for an explanation, but he merely shrugged, so she settled for propping herself next to the nearly sleeping Vaughn against the wall of lockers. She had just cracked open her French book when someone shrieked from around the corner, sending all three agents to their feet in alarm. But no one noticed because at that moment, a girl with blonde and black hair tore off down the hallway, only to trip outside the band hallway and fall flat on her face, out cold. Someone yelled for a teacher, and soon people surrounded the poor girl.

Anne slumped around the corner, her face drawn and colored a mottled shade of grey, and collapsed in front of her locker, hands falling into her lap.

"Poor Kylie," Anne murmured, eyes transfixed on the gaggle of people in front of the music department. "She was his girlfriend. It blows she had to learn this way." No one spoke, and an uncomfortable non-silence fell around them, pressing against their skin like the insufferable heat that characterized their corner of the hallway. Syd stared at her friend peripherally. The former continued to peer at nothing, her eyes glazed and brimmed with extra moisture, and the rest of the seniors began to glance up periodically at the female agent. They knew only Syd could or would dare to approach Anne; the rest of them knew her too well.

But when Syd opened her mouth, Anne swung herself up from the ground and began gathering her first hour belongings. "Has anyone seen Ashley Mayer? Anyone know who she is? All right. Whatever." Her locker slammed shut, and she readjusted her purse on her shoulder. "I've got errands to run. I'll see y'all second hour." With that, she strode briskly away and disappeared through the music department doors.

The three agents openly glared at one another, negotiating without words who would follow after her. Syd finally mind-muscled Weiss and Vaughn into rising with her and journeying into the music department. They caught a glimpse of the zero-hour Chamber Choir practicing in the choir room, and as they filed into Guter's office, the Orchestra strummed the opening chords of "Baccanale." Anne sat hunched over Guter's desk with a notebook under her right hand and a conference phone in her left. The moment the door squeaked open, their friend tensed and breathed heavily. "Get out. Please," She said, voice solid but coursing with tension scarcely-held. "I have stuff to do."

"Well, what can we do to help?" Weiss insisted, perching on the edge of Guter's old desk as Vaughn and Syd shared Madden's swivel chair.

"Yeah," Syd piped up, leaning back into Vaughn for balance, "like watching out for Guter. Where _is_ the old man, anyway?"

"Probably not here yet; Madden opened the office for me." Anne began fluidly stroking her pen across the paper, resigning herself to their presence. "This is going to be pretty boring," She informed without lifting her eyes. "I'm just gonna make some phone calls. Hopefully no teary ex-girlfriends burst in."

The three agents glanced at one another in confusion, but said nothing.

Anne's hand stilled, and her left hand twitched toward her ear. "Can you grab the phonebook, Jane?" The orchestra stopped, but choir continued warbling.

"Uh," Syd answered uneasily, rising from Vaughn's knee only to glance around the space, "where is it?"

"Should be on the shelf next to Guter's collection of DVDs." Her voice grated with nerves as her shoulders tensed yet again, and her head cocked to the side, subconsciously preparing herself for performing a verbal berating.

The female agent's hands stuttered around plastic cases, cork grease, errant mouthpieces, and enough paper to counter global warming if it resumed its former form. Vaughn's eyes aided her search, but to no avail. "I-I can't find it, Anne. I d-don't see it."

"Jesus Christ! I'll just fucking do it myself!" She spun out of her chair in a rage, and they all backed out of her way in shock. She found the large yellow book within seconds and slammed it down on the desk with a loud thump that made the basses in the orchestra peer over their shoulders at the window. Violently flipping through the pages at first, she gradually slowed around the 's' section and finally came to a frustrated stop. Her head dropped into her hand, and she sniffled loudly.

Sydney peered encouragingly at her friend and prompted, "Anne...?"

"I can't remember where his mom lives," She whispered, voice cracking as she talked more to herself than anything. "Is she the one that took the house on Sunnyside? What about Don? I don't know where he lives now—"

"Okay, I'll bite," Weiss interjected, kneeling beside her and placing a hand on her knee. "Why are you calling all these people? What's up?"

She looked up, her face entirely too calm and deliberate to be natural and untroubled. "Anthony Angiers died. No, you don't know him," She added, anticipating their mutual question. "He dropped out sophomore year. I've known this kid since kindergarten; he went to my middle school. My graduating class was forty-nine people; I'm pretty sure I could name all of them in alphabetical order. Everyone who went to Sugarville was like family, and now — now he's...he's..." She trailed off, eyes diverting to a blank space on the desk but seeing something else entirely. Perhaps foursquare and kickball on the playground or 'spiced up' conversations in Spanish class. "He was turning his life around," She continued, again talking more with herself than them. "He re-enrolled this year, and was even going to graduate on time. He stopped doing pot. He just got a job at John's Buffet. I don't understand. He's so young. _We're_ so young. I just...don't understand."

This was the closest Anne got to crying for a while. Her eyes misted and threatened to spill over, but by some miraculous feat, the laws of physics suspended themselves for a moment, allowing her to compose herself again.

Syd sensed this, but made no move to comfort her — she did not need that at the moment. "Anne," She asked, tone as soothing as possible, "what happened?"

"That's just the thing!" She exclaimed, spinning around to face her friend without a hint of tears, but more than enough anger. "No one knows what really happened! All the cops are telling anyone is that they found his body on the tracks Friday night. That's why they were blocked." A meaningful look at Weiss. "He was on his way to work, but they found his body well east of the train station...Some are saying it's a homicide; some are saying he went into a diabetic coma; some are saying he got ran over by a train; some are saying it's suicide..." She spit out the last possibility bitterly. "Suicide...that's bullshit. He was getting his life back together. Why the hell would he jump out in front of a train?"

Syd hoped that was a rhetorical question, as she could think of a number of reasons, each more sick and malicious than the last, and none of which would probably occur to a seventeen-year-old male from small town suburbia. Although...

"But why call everyone within the Chicagoland area?" Weiss asked, choosing his words carefully.

Her head dropped as she began thumbing through the phone book again. "I have to call the people that go to Saint Francis and graduated from Sugarville. Kerri gets to call everyone else: there's Lisa in Arizona, Erin in Libertyville...Oh God. Andrew doesn't know..." She trailed off as the bell rang. The three agents moved for the door, but Anne remained in her seat. "Tell Tressaut I won't be in first hour. If he has a problem with it, he can kiss my ass."

Syd, Vaughn, and Weiss looked at each other but ducked out all the same.

News of this Anthony's death spread like any other rumor and, true to Anne's word, Sydney heard any number of explanations, including a theory that the school killed him in order to make an example of dropouts. (Anne threatened to castrate the person who started that one before returning to her turkey sandwich during lunch one day.)

For someone with such a mysterious death, no one talked much about it. After that Monday, no one really took issue with it. During the announcements, they offered a moment of silence and then gave information about funeral services, but after that...nothing. No one offered counseling services; no one even held a vigil until Anne organized one around the flagpole for students and one at John's Buffet for Sugarville grads. This thoroughly pissed off the senior girl. Apparently, when a kid in her Biology class freshman year had died, the school could not stop grieving for weeks. "It's like just because he didn't play baseball," She ranted, "he wasn't worth anything. Well, he's worth something to me."

Anne's mood swings became even more unpredictable leading up to Anthony's funeral. She would seem just a little withdrawn or detached, but then someone would say something with the wrong inflection, or would inadvertently mention something that sparked a memory, and then she was off. Where she was of _to_ was another problem. Sometimes she would snap, barking at anyone within earshot and then calming down within a minute. And sometimes her face would drop, and she excused herself to...anywhere but there.

She had yet to cry.

But she looked like she wanted to many times.

No matter what her friends tried, Anne was inconsolable. Henry attempted any number of things, including risking a Dean's referral by running through Senior Hall in his leopard-print boxers as George of the Jungle in an imitation of the Senior Band Prank. She cracked a smile but merely turned back to her Calculus homework. Weiss did everything the senior boy could not, buying her anything from her favourite candy (boxes and boxes of M&Ms) to "that CD I've always wanted" or even doing her homework. (When he tried her Government homework, however, he gave up halfway through; he had no idea how his employers worked.) He even offered to accompany her to the wake, an offer that Syd snuck in on and Anne agreed to. Vaughn had tests during the time they specified, so Anne made him take a reluctant rain check.

So for the first time in..._ever_, Anne wore a black skirt to school, all three arranged for off-campus passes for four/five/six — as the senior girl refused to take the entire day off, therefore disallowing their attendance at the actual service and burial — and they left in Anne's car. The wake itself was very nice, Syd was sure, for someone who knew him well. Teenagers Syd recognized from the high school's hallways snaked around the longer room in order to pay their respects to an empty coffin — his mother wanted her son cremated. Many more stood outside in the cold February air, a sea of black suits, dresses, and coats. Both Syd and Weiss stood by patiently as their friend conversed solemnly with other students, keeping a stiff upper lip as they cried on her shoulder.

Syd whispered a request to her fellow agent on the way back to Anne's car, and he muttered a half-hearted explanation about leaving something on a chair, leaving the two women alone as he ran back to the funeral home. They both climbed into the car, and Anne gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles. Her friend stared at her curiously as she refused to move, eyes transfixed on the bleak landscape on the other side of the windshield. "Anne?" Syd attempted, unbuckling her seatbelt. "Are you okay?"

"I shouldn't be here," She said, more to herself than Sydney. "We shouldn't be here. We're too young to be talking in the past tense and in terms of years and to be sitting in a car driving away form a wake. I've been to two of 'em, and I'm only eighteen!" Anne turned in her seat to face Sydney, her cheeks finally shining with long-suppressed tears. "I shouldn't be here."

Sydney's heart broke as she gripped her friend in a fierce hug, letting her sob wetly into her shoulder. Syd knew all too well the pain of losing someone close. Even if she was more than ten years younger than Anne at the time of her mother's 'death,' she vaguely remembered thinking similar thoughts. And it never got easier. She recalled countless Agency or SD-6 funerals that she attended, veiled in black and bearing condolences. The exact number escaped her at the moment as she tightened her grip on her friend. _'I wish Vaughn were here,'_ She reflected pensively. _'He would know what to say. He always knows what to say.'_

Then Weiss's face swam into view through the driver's side window, and he tapped on the glass hesitantly. Anne pulled away, opened the door, and nearly tackled him in the middle of the street crowded with cars. Their arms latched around each other, and he murmured reassurances into her ear as Syd slid into the driver's seat and turned on the car. The couple finally collapsed into the backseat, and Anne tried to rid herself of the just-got-done-bawling look. They linked hands in the space between them.

"Why don't you just go home, take the rest of the day off?" Syd asked as she carefully pulled out of the cramped space and began journeying back to the school.

Anne shook her head shortly, sniffling. "We've got that Chem test ninth hour."

"I'm sure Tull will understand if you miss it," Weiss said.

"My grade won't." A glimmer of the old Anne wit shone through as she blew her nose on a Kleenex from her coat pocket. "Besides," She reasoned, "it'll do me good to get my mind off this. Even if it only wanders to redox reactions. By the way, what are they? Man, I'm screwed, aren't I?"

Her recuperation was slow, but it happened. Weiss and Government class helped her along. Weiss because he had to do some pretty stupid stuff in order to beat out his rival — the George of the Jungle stunt was hard to top. But when Anne began smiling and laughing and making sexually inappropriate jokes again, Syd knew the couple's handholding and inexplicably developing relationship were essentially good things.

Government, on the other hand, brought around the Anne of yore quicker than some would have liked. Being a "card-carrying Liberal in the reddest county in Illinois" and a four-year member of the Forensics team, Anne's sharp tongue made her an enemy of many, and even managed to divide their group of friends. Every morning when Syd and Vaughn ambled toward their spot in Senior Hall, the sounds of Anne arguing with some other poor soul hit their eardrums before anything else. Whether it was abortion with Joe, gay marriage with Martin Braun, or pledge repeal with Henry, the debates drew many Government students and scared away passing underclassmen.

Anne described the class to Syd one day during lunch: "It's the one class kids stay in school for. You pick your party — if you're an Independent, you're basically exiled — then an issue group, and eventually a bill that has to go through the legislative process. We discuss a few model bills in class, like Flat Tax or Health Care Reform, using parliamentary procedure and post responses on , which can get pretty nasty. Wanna see some fun stuff? I'll log ya on sometime, and go under Pledge Repeal and find my name or Abortion Ban and find Martin Braun. People basically cuss each other out. So much for civil discourse.

"Anyway, then we have committee hearings — which already happened — to pass bills into Full Session or kill them — which is what happened to mine, since I didn't sneak into school at fucking five o'clock in the morning to get a controversial bill. Not that I'm bitter or anything. Not that _I've wanted gay rights since freshman year and Kerri Jones knew that..._Sorry. Didn't mean to strangle your purse, there.

"So...Full Session...The first day is Friday, the day before Spring Break. Guess they wanted to make sure as many seniors as possible would show up that day. Hey! You should come! It's an afternoon session, so convince Lee to take our dance class. Or, better yet, get Tull to get us out of Chem. That way, neither of us has work to make up."

"And Greg gets to see you kick ass."

"Shut UP!"

As every Democrat predicted, Anne ran for Minority Floor Leader, but got pushed out in a power play by the other candidates. _Republicans_ came up to her the day after the elections and gave her their condolences, probably because "they wanted to piss me off during Full Session. Well, they'll get their chance. Henry! Hey! Come back with my sandals! Greg! That's my purse! Damn you all!"

So as they approached Spring Break, the only event that kept them sane was the first Full Session of the semester. Other than that all classes, all hope for productivity of any kind disappeared like alcohol on a hot plate. Plans for the week and a half of break flew about like multi-colored paper airplanes, collected only by those whose shoulders it fell upon to organize the Plan.

In other words, Anne. She kept a working list of ideas in the back of her assignment notebook, no vacation too obscenely complicated to be eliminated. So far, the frontrunners were taking a road trip to Joe's cousin's guest house in North Carolina in the Magic Morrison Bus (Tobi Morrison's over-sized van); the Michigan Dunes; the Indiana Dunes; Lake Geneva in Wisconsin; camping at Blackwell Forest Preserve; or staying home and basically living in Joe and Allyson's backyard for the week. Anne wanted to reserve the first one for college, so the last one looked like the strongest possibility.

But for the Thursday morning before break, Senior Hall seemed unusually chipper and focused and excited. Suit-clad students reclined in butterfly chairs, shifted squeakily in inflatable furniture (the newest craze — Syd did not understand where they kept the furniture or how they blew it up), or perched on their coats spread over the floor while passing lint rollers around like joints.

"Who's making fun of my Forensics emergency kit _now_, biotch?" Anne exclaimed, extracting a red leather case from the bottom of her locker. "Static Guard, anyone? Extra pantyhose? I've got everything right here."

Out of context, Syd would have laughed, but after one too many missions where a stocking ran or her wig would not stay put, she thought her friend might be on to something. _'Note to self: create emergency mission kit when I get home.'_

Syd felt extremely out of place throughout the first half of the day, as most of her friends sported blazers, business suits, and shiny dress shoes. Only Matt Herbert, out of all the agents' senior friends, took the class last semester, and therefore dressed down. When asked about their Government status Syd, Vaughn, and Weiss mutually shrugged and answered that one of their previous courses must have fulfilled the requirement, as Glenfield students were mandated to pass the course in order to graduate.

Sixth hour lunch came, and when Sydney went to sit in their regular spot, Anne was not there. Figuring the simulation already started, she had resigned herself to being alone until her friend's signature laugh echoed towards her from the opposite side of Commons. Syd ducked her head around a pillar and saw almost their entire group of friends sitting along a table in front of the Art Club's mural. As soon as Anne saw her, she waved her over, taking her seat as she gestured to Vaughn, who sat next to her.

"_J'ai un test _in American History," He explained before pulling his girlfriend down onto his lap.

"Eat, woman!" Henry commanded, practically shoving a handful of fries down Anne's throat. "You know you can't argue on an empty stomach."

The senior girl frowned but took the fries anyway. "I can argue on _any_ stomach. And don't call me 'woman.' I consider it derogatory." A group of guys next to them oohed, and it spread quickly so that the entire cafeteria glanced back at their group. Sydney and Vaughn looked like deer in headlights, but Anne weathered the attention by standing up and shouting, "Shut up! You're not in first grade!" Collapsing back into her seat, she turned to Henry and admonished, "Look what you made me do! Now I have to take your fries as compensation..."

As their friends continued to converse around them, Syd snuggled into the crook of Vaughn's neck, no longer interested in her lunch. "Do we have to have a meeting after school?" She queried quietly, making sure no one heard her. "Their cabin fever is starting to wear off on me, and I hear Greece in the spring is _beautiful—"_

"Well, that meeting depends," He answered in his accent, causing her to rethink her choice of destination.

She narrowed her eyes and tightened her grip around his neck. "Depends on what?" She asked cautiously.

His thumbs stopped tap-dancing on the small of her back. "Since you asked..." Syd sighed heavily, sensing what was coming, but letting him continue anyway. "We received intel this morning stating that Sark might have a second base for handling the financials of the _Negro/Azul_ enterprise. Dixon called me down to the 'Dean's office' this morning and gave me this." He slipped a piece of paper into the back pocket of her jeans. "It's Lara's locker number and combination. You father's going to take our Chemistry class to the simulation during ninth hour, and he wants you to break into her locker then."

"Op-tech?" She wondered, fingers spinning the newly cropped hairs on the base of his neck.

"Jack has a bag with your lock-picking kit, laser pen, lipstick camera, and a couple of the fiber-optic sticky cams. It's a blue Jansport, and it'll be waiting for us next to the trash can in the balcony on stage right."

"Wait — us?" Her fingers stilled and brow furrowed against his cheek. "Are you coming too?"

He chuckled shortly, his chest jumping beneath her own. "Uh, yeah! Lara has gym ninth hour, and her class is _also_ going to the simulation. Therefore—"

"—If she decides to 'go to the bathroom,'" She interrupted, "then you can stop her."

"Yep." Vaughn hiked her farther up onto his lap. "I'm the point guy."

"You're the point guy," She repeated, lips curling against his skin. "Now just make sure you don't point your guy at her." He merely chuckled again and pulled back, signaling the end of their covert conversation. They rejoined her friends in time to see them successfully adhere an apple wedge to the paneled ceiling with caramel. "Nice shot," Syd noted sarcastically, suddenly feeling her age as the senior guys guffawed and the girls held their heads in their hands while struggling to keep straight faces. "You gonna make a smiley face, now?"

"Hell no!" Joe answered indignantly. "We're gonna draw a penis!"

"And _this_ is the next generation of politicians?" Syd moaned, leaning into her boyfriend.

"Yeah," Anne answered, glaring dismally at the guys. "I'm moving to Canada."

**

* * *

**

"All right, HB 405 fails. Next we have HB 201 — Ban Gay Marriage. Mister Buchanon, you have the floor for three minutes."

While the rest of her classmates immediately gravitated towards the edge of the balcony, Sydney grabbed Vaughn in one hand and the backpack in the other. They slipped out the door to the third floor while Sydney tried to ignore the pang of guilt in her stomach as Anne rose to get in the speaker's line. She began dissecting the pack as they stuttered down the stairs to the second floor. "I can't believe I'm missing Anne's big speech," She lamented, pulling out her kit and a sheet of camouflage cameras (otherwise known as cam-cams). "She's never going to forgive me."

"She doesn't have to know," Vaughn pointed out, earning a stern look. "Hey, Weiss is still up there. He'll give us the general gist of what happened." They halted at the juncture of the LRC corridor and the hall to the band room. He nodded towards the boys' room halfway down the corridor. "I'll be in there monitoring the school's cameras. Why don't you put a cam-cam on the wood here? That way I can see if Lara starts heading your way."

Nodding, Syd peeled one off the sheet and stuck it to the fire doors' frame. They gave each other a lasting glance before parting ways. Avoiding security cameras was no problem, as they only guarded select stairwells, entrances, and bathrooms — none of which pertained to Sydney. She merely needed to stay out of the way of classroom windows, office aids delivering notes, and nosy students needing to go to the bathroom or their lockers.

'_I don't have much time, so I've got to do this quickly. Maybe we'll even get back in time to hear Anne's speech.'_

She stooped for a drink at one end of Senior Hall, strategically out of range of the camera at the L-bend guarding the bathrooms. While one hand held the water on, the other pieced together her favorite lock pick, and as she finished, she reclaimed the backpack and snuck down the last science hallway, assured no one occupied the hall at the present time. Upon reaching the specified locker, she began tinkering away at the lock, breathing a sigh of relief when she realized it was across from her empty Chemistry room as well as next to Banks's dark room.

The door popped open with minimal squeaking, and Syd immediately stuck a cam-cam under the first shelf. Her hands played over the worn metal and books and paper shoved into the bottom. A red coat hung from one of the hooks, and pictures of sworn enemies peppered the inside like extremely holey wallpaper. Her expectations on the outset lay low, but she extracted the lipstick camera all the same. If she found anything, she thought it would be hidden on the top shelf among the body spray and lotion and make-up.

But when she began tapping the back of the locker in the largest, bottom section, a dead, hollow sound answered back, indicating a false back. Unwilling to do permanent (and telltale) damage by utilizing the laser pen, her fingers instead fumbled with the bolts, and she opened the back panel like a small door. A dim light immediately clicked on, illuminating a small collection of arms and technology, perhaps for emergency usage. Sydney began snapping pictures rapidly as she began her search. All lay in a specific place, clearly organized with some sort of intelligence. But wedged between a gun case and the crumbling cinderblock wall sat a large envelope, stashed away before an obviously hasty exit. Clenching the camera between her teeth, she pulled out a thick packet of papers and began leafing through them, clicking the camera's button with her tongue as she memorized their contents.

Sydney's eyes expanded larger and larger as she speed-read through the documents, and by the time she finished, she supposed her surprise enveloped her entire face.

Blueprints. Meeting schematics. A personal message from Sark, himself.

He really did build a second compound in Russia, and he invited Lara for a stay of 'undetermined length' over the next few months. Since she never saw the place, he included blueprints as well as directions — encrypted, of course, but because Lara was only eighteen and had limited life experience, the code was easily assessable. Once she reached the last page, she hurriedly stuffed the envelope into its original place, refastened the faux back, closed the locker with a slight click, and threw her equipment into the backpack. She debated returning to the balcony with it, but after trying her father's classroom, decided to stash it in there instead.

Hurrying towards the juncture with the band corridor, she nearly ran into a sophomore as she turned the corner. After muttering an apology, she only took one step towards the guys' bathroom before Vaughn issued forth, fully decked out in worry wrinkles. "Lara came down just as we predicted," He murmured, ushering her to the landing between the top two floors. "I was about to stop her, but luckily Missus Vargas must have off this hour, because she stopped Lara and asked for her pass."

"Vargas? The Pass Nazi?"

"Yeah." His mouth lilted in a boyish half-smile. "You have no idea how happy I am that I didn't have to talk to that girl."

Syd, while sharing the sentiment, had more weighty things on her mind. "Well, remember what that feels like, 'cause you won't be happy for long." If possible, more lines broke out across his forehead, and she reached up to smooth them away before leading him up to the third floor. "Really want to know? Ditch tenth hour. Otherwise, you can wait 'til after school, 'cause there _will_ be a meeting."

Just then, applause erupted from the auditorium, startling both of them. As the two agents snuck back into the left side of the balcony, Weiss accosted them, standing and smiling and still clapping wildly. "I cannot _believe_ you just missed The Best Speech of All Time!" He exclaimed over the thunderous noise. "Dear _God_, Anne's amazing!" Sydney and Vaughn exchanged multiple-faceted glances as they reclaimed seats along the balcony's edge. She caught her father's eye and nodded once. When she glanced down to the floor of the auditorium, Anne peered up at her, practically beaming. Syd flashed her friend two thumbs up, trying to ignore the gaping hole of guilt rusting away her stomach.

**

* * *

**

"For once, you all did something right."

"I agree."

"We need to act on this intelligence immediately."

"I agree."

"You leave tomorrow."

"Hold up."

"Look, he's right, Weiss. It's Spring Break; they're practically begging us to travel."

"You just want to kick the bitch's ass, Syd."

"What's wrong with that?"

"But Kendall, the specified date of their meet isn't for a while. What's the point of going now? They might not have any pertinent intel yet."

"Point taken, Agent Vaughn, but would you rather wait a month and have something catastrophic and apocalyptic happen and nearly guarantee the chance of being seen by Miss Andropov, thereby blowing your covers? Or would you rather go within the next few days, get it over with, gather what intel we can, and _not_ get caught?"

"So when's the plane leaving?"

Kendall rolled his eyes on the screen, and everyone heaved a sigh. The six field agents and Kendall had been arguing for the past hour, and if they continued the debate much longer, people would begin to wonder. Unlike the last conference call, however, Will was noticeably absent, therefore decreasing Syd's investment in the conversation. As far as she was concerned, they could hop on a plane that very moment and it would not be soon enough. This was one lead she would not let slip through her fingers, even if it meant missing the better part of her Spring Break to get it done. The end of the school year rapidly approached, and unless they all wanted to flunk senior year in order to repeat it, they had better deal Sark and the _Negro/Azuls_ a crippling blow — and soon.

"I don't see why you're so against this, Weiss," She said, turning on her friend. "So we miss a few days of sitting at home watching TV—" She purposely avoided mentioning Anne "—and eating frozen dinners. Now is as good a time as any!"

"I'm on the baseball team, Syd!" He exclaimed. "We have games over Spring Break, a tournament at Saint Charles East, to be specific. And I don't want to miss this opportunity to take them down. I have just as much at stake in this as you do. Maybe even more," He added in a whisper, meant for only Sydney to hear.

Kendall waved his hand in impatience and shifted in his seat. "Whatever. Agent Weiss, you are excused from this mission. The rest of you, however, are going to Russia in four days. Jack, Dixon, and Marshall, you're on comms; Agents Bristow and Vaughn, you're in the field. I'll fax Jack any other specs you may need, but for now, study the blueprints. We might be able to retask a satellite for additional surveillance, but until we get confirmation, assume you're going in blind. That's all. Enjoy Spring Break. Try not to get too drunk."

"We'll do our best," Sydney snarked, crossing her arms over her chest for good measure. She shuddered at the thought of Kendall ever enjoying Spring Breaks as a typical teenager.

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

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**_

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Spring Break!  
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Waiting Game **

No Cliffhanger Monsters! [everyone cheers]

Not exactly a pivotal chapter, but hopefully it was to your liking. Only five chapters and an epilogue to go, guys. Excited, anyone? Hope you enjoyed this one!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	28. Spring Break!

**Disclaimer's the same, title's the same, author's still a little cooky...**

**Chapter Genre:** Fluff and then mission funness. How many times has _that_ happened?

**This Chapter:** A slumber party guilt trip, death threats, and the mission to Russia. (And yes, they follow Kendall's advice...thus far.) Oh! Guest starring: Lauren from the Birthday Contest. I'm thinking of doing another contest: any takers?

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Two Princes" by Spin Doctors, "Badenweiler" off the _Alias_ soundtrack, and "Catalyst" by Anna Nalick.

**Author's Note:** Let's continue with the chapter...

**

* * *

**

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Spring Break!**

"Okay, here's the plan. I'll snap to Wak who'll fake a reverse hand-off to Herbert who'll run in a fly pattern down the left sideline. That should distract about half the team. Then Wak'll fake a pass to Henry who'll immediately fall on Greg because they're practically glued at the fist. When everyone's distracted, Wak will go deep to Anne."

"I saw your lips move, but it pretty much sound like 'blah-blah, blah, blah-blah-blah—'"

"Run to the endzone and catch Wak's pass."

"Gotcha. BREAK!"

Anne, Henry, Tobi, Joe, Wak (John Wakowski's almost-phonetic alias), Syd, John Motz, Ruth Anders, and Matt Herbert lined up left to right across the line of scrimmage as Weiss, Abby, Taylor Hoffman, Mike Holcomb, Vaughn, Tom Link, Bobby (she had never seen him before), Cari Jones, and Allyson set themselves to match. Wak hiked the ball, and Syd and Vaughn immediately clashed. Just as she was about to pummel her boyfriend into the ground, he whispered raggedly in her ear, "You're _Jane_, here, not Sydney." She backed off, and he shoved her to the ground in order to blitz the quarterback. She pounded the frozen ground and huffed in frustration, but smiled again as Vaughn missed Wak and the latter threw to Anne for a touchdown. As Henry hoisted her over his shoulder for a victory lap around the retention pond, Syd grinned up into the darkening sky.

The three agents gathered in the retention pond behind Joe and Allyson Hall's house along with what seemed like half of the senior and junior classes. The Hall twins had invited their entire group of friends over for tug-o-war, Ultimate Frisbee, football, a bonfire, movies, and a sleepover. Even as the stars began to shine, they continued to yell and scream and whoop and laugh, calling out plays in the blackness and shrieking as they ran into one another.

The first day of break, Sydney slept in until two in the afternoon when she woke up to the sound of Weiss and Vaughn making lunch in the kitchen. After pretending to invite her father to her house loudly over the phone, they quickly apologized, and the three of them spent the rest of the day rediscovering their molds in the couch cushions.

Anne abducted Sydney on the second day of break to go "power Prom dress shopping" at the nearest outdoor outlet mall. They ended up spending half the time in a discount book store ("Three classics for ten bucks? Dear Lord! Who could pass up _War and Peace, Anne of Green Gables, _and _Wuthering Heights_ for less than a coffee from Starbucks!" "What Starbucks are _you_ going to?" "I don't go to Starbucks. My growth is stunted enough, thank you very much") while they wiled away the other half drooling over the display cases at the Chocolate Factory.

Vaughn called when Sydney detoured into American Eagle — Anne refused to enter and waited outside, despite the near-freezing temperature. He informed her that Kendall should call any minute with the exact date and time of their next mini-mission to Russia. She exited the store hurriedly in order to get better reception and found Anne on her cell phone as well. Her friend mouthed that Henry was on the line, and Syd hung up with a small frown. Anne hurriedly wrapped up her conversation, and proceeded to invite Jane, Michael, and Greg to a sleepover at Joe and Allyson's house on Sunday. Even as Sydney heartily accepted the invitation, a hint of reservation crept into her stomach.

Something was going to mess this up.

And something did.

Something named Kendall.

He scheduled the mini-mission for Monday.

But she did not rescind their R.S.V.P., most likely as an affront to the Director, and all three agents showed up at the Hall twins' house on time and ready to pull an all-nighter. Sydney never attended many sleepovers during high school, let alone co-ed sleepovers. (Vaughn did not count — they never did much sleeping.) She had no idea what to expect, and nearly asked Anne what the game plan entailed, but the senior girl beat her to it, rattling off a list of activities they would be doing, movies they would be watching, and sleeping accessories the Halls usually provided. This gesture greatly shaved down her anxiety.

Abby, now reduced to a mere shadow next to Weiss, a slightly larger black spot, huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "This is officially insane," She commented, voice echoing around the retention pond in which they played. "I can't see two feet in front of me!"

"Since when _were_ you able to see two feet in front of you?" Joe's voice asked somewhere off to Sydney's left.

"Are you saying you run into all those doors because you enjoy it?" Anne screeched, trying not to laugh at her own joke.

"Hey!" The poor girl cried as the largest blob of all — Matt Herbert, presumably — scooped her up and began running towards Joe's backyard. As Allyson yelled at Joe to start the bonfire, the rest of the teens gravitated toward the house as well, their sleeping bags and the promise of a heaping fire sounding too good to pass up.

Weiss, Vaughn, and Sydney lagged slightly behind, knowing Anne would drag out their belongings and save a spot for them. "What time do we have to be at the airport?" Weiss whispered.

"The plane lifts off from Midway at noon," answered Vaughn, muffling his response with Sydney's hair.

She glanced up at him swiftly. "Accounting for rush hour traffic, that means we have to leave at ten o'clock! How is that going to happen?"

Vaughn sighed as they rose over the lip of the pond and approached the group of friends clustered around a metal fire pit. "Syd, you're picking up your parents from the airport with me, and Weiss's got practice. Now let's synchronize our watches. Set? All right. _Donne-moi du chocolat, Anne, s'il te plaît."_

With eighteen people and _very_ limited access to the fire, uncomfortable positions were bound to occur. Blankets circled the fire pit and teenagers lay upon one another like human sandwiches ready for grilling. Just as Anne lay down nibbling on a graham cracker, Henry flew out of the darkness with a quilt trailing behind him like a cape and flopped down on top of her with a loud grunt. "Ow! Henry!" She cried, twisting and flailing in a vain attempt to buck him off. "What the hell! I can barely breathe! Get your fat ass off me."

"Just be glad Herbert's not laying on you," Allyson admonished, her large boyfriend hugging her closer underneath another quilt. Everyone laughed as they settled into spots. Couples coupled up and passed food around the extremely cramped circle. Sydney watched carefully as Weiss inched his way into Anne and Henry's blanket, and he glowered at the younger man — who still sat atop Anne — as he conspicuously grabbed and held her hand. Mrs. Hall occasionally popped her head onto the porch and did a hand check in order to assure nothing questionable went on, causing Syd to laugh; she remembered the infamous hand check during Homecoming dinner that stuck Lara with the check.

It seemed like years since the Homecoming dance, let alone the beginning of the year; Sydney could not believe only a few months spanned that time instead. They uncovered so much in that small space that she could only marvel at what they accomplished. Part of her hated to think that their mission tomorrow could spell the beginning of the end of the agents' time at Glenfield. Suddenly, Sydney could not bear the thought of leaving of newfound friends. For the first time in her life, she was part of a group. She did not have one or two friends that monopolized her time; now, when anyone put her in charge of reservations, she never said less than fifteen. Never did she think of herself as lonely, but she now realized how much she enjoyed having a group. Three different cereals sat on her counter top: something with marshmallows, something chocolately, and cornflakes. Depending on her mood, each day she could choose a different breakfast, and each would satisfy her.

Now it was the marshmallow cereal, but tomorrow could be the chocolate.

But tomorrow was the mission.

'_No. Don't think of that right now. Concentrate on—'_

"—They have too much sex there."

"What!"

Anne turned her head as far as she could. "I'm serious! One of my speech coaches told me Western Illinois University is a huge party school, and I definitely wouldn't like going there."

"As if the bus to Wal-Mart wasn't a big enough attraction," Joe quipped, tossing a handful of grass on the fire.

"That was Eastern, but they're a ten-minute tractor ride away, so whatever." Anne squeezed Weiss's hand and pulled it under her chin. "Have you guys decided which school you're going to yet?"

Many students began talking at once, and Sydney immediately felt left out, not only in the sense that she could not talk about college, but that she had to think which schools _Jane_ would go to.

Henry shifted on top of Anne, making her groan in melodramatic pain. "Michigan Tech," He answered immediately. "Majoring in Ecology."

Multiple gasps echoed in the small area. "Ecology?" John repeated incredulously.

"Michigan Tech?" Anne queried, trying to look over her shoulder at him. "But that's so far away! Don't you want to stay close to home?"

"Look who's talking," Abby interjected, staring up at the starry night sky. "Little Miss I'm Going to Georgetown in New York."

"Abs, Georgetown's in D.C."

"I knew that. Just testing you."

"Yeah. Uh-huh. Guess we all know where Abby's going to college." Ruth smiled at their group of friends knowingly.

Matt raised his hand and answered, "C.O.D.? College of Dreams?"

Everyone laughed again and Anne explained, "College of DuPage, the community college. I think we already talked about that with Tressaut." Grabbing a thin twig from the lawn, she began peeling back the bark and tossing fragments into the fire. "I know I want to go to Georgetown, but that's to get away from my family, not you guys." She sighed. "We're all going away, and we'll be so far apart, and I'm gonna miss everyone so much."

"There's always email," Mike pointed out, wrapping a blanket around his new girlfriend, Taylor, a junior in the colour guard.

"And we'll all be in the general vicinity." Henry began braiding blades of grass into Anne's hair. "I'm just going to Michigan; Tobi's going to Purdue; Matt's getting a full football scholarship to Notre Dame; Motz's at University of Illinois; Mike's at that design school in Schaumberg; and Joe, Wak, and Allyson are going to C.O.D. _You're_ the one who's moving away!"

"So we'll all be here when you get back," Allyson added.

"And anyways," Joe butted in, "when we go for that gigantic road trip to North Carolina, you're on the way! We'll pick you up!"

Anne smiled and hugged Weiss's arm. "We've got it all figured out, don't we? In four years after we've graduated, we'll all be living downtown in one entire freaking building like the cast of 'Friends.' Can you imagine what that would be like?" She turned to Sydney, who was beginning to nod off against Vaughn's shoulder, but awoke under Anne's gaze. "We'll be best friends forever. And I'm not being a 'naïvely optimistic Democrat,' as certain conservatives might say..." She grinned brightly as the Republicans in the group sat up and began practically barking at their friend, heatedly discussing the results of the first Full Session.

Sydney, now fully awake, leaned back into her boyfriend, clutching her stomach discreetly. Best friends _forever?_ It had been a long time since she conveniently forgot that one day Greg, Michael, and Jane would leave the small town without warning, tearing to shreds any relationships they maintained. She remembered this feeling the hour before they raided SD-6 — the fear, regret, and utter nakedness of laying out her true identity like a wet shirt before a fire to dry.

God, it was going to be so hard to leave them. All of them.

Especially after a wonderful night like that one.

She had seen Anne grieve the loss of two friends: the girl took both extremely hard. How would she cope with the loss of a friend, best friend, and pseudo-boyfriend? Add to that any possible extreme measure the agents had to go to in order to take down the _Negro/Azul_ organization — Sark would never go quietly; completely not his style — and that made one messy equation.

'_See! That's why I didn't want to form any deep relationships here! It's going to be just as painful for them when we leave as it will be to leave them._

'_Well, at least Lara won't be around to make their lives hell anymore.'_

Eventually, they became bored with games of musical sleeping bags and random hand checks, so the entire group of sixteen (Bobby and Tobi had to leave: they worked early in the morning. "That's why you take the week off, numb nuts!" Joe called out the door after them) literally folded themselves into the minuscule basement to watch movies.

"It's like playing Tetris...with people!" Anne exclaimed. She occupied the corner of a love seat with Weiss beneath her. Syd and Vaughn scrunched into the other corner while John Motz lay parallel to their couch with Henry perched on his friend's feet. The rest sprawled in various positions and varying degrees of comfort — Matt Herbert looked extremely smooshed on another love seat; his knees hung off the end. Their conversation continued over the racket of "Full Metal Jacket" and "Old School," and would have continued into "Dodge Ball," but Mrs. Hall popped down from the first floor to enforce curfew: two o'clock in the morning. She practically had to pry boy- and girlfriends apart, ushering the females upstairs so they could sleep in peace.

"But Mom!" Allyson whined, trying to extricate herself from Matt's mass. "We're not going to do anything! Not with all these people around, at least."

Mrs. Hall gave her daughter a stern glare as she double-checked that the basement was clear of girls. "You're all in band; I know what goes on in your heads!"

As a handful of people pretended to gag at the thought of an actual, massive band orgy, Joe paused the movie again. "Then why do the girls get the first floor? There's more of us!"

"'Cause we want to keep your stench contained to a small room," Abby joked. Matt suddenly bolted up, hauled the senior girl over his shoulder, and threw her into the pit of boys and sleeping bags. That prompted the rest of them to pile downstairs to reclaim their fallen comrade, and Mrs. Hall nearly screamed. Unwilling to test the woman further, Sydney pecked Vaughn on the cheek with a parting kiss before trooping into the kitchen/Great Room with the rest of her gender.

Someone flipped on MTV ("Hey! They still play music videos occasionally!") as they unrolled their sleeping bags and proceeded to not use them, instead gossiping around the island in the kitchen as they heard the guys telling fart jokes downstairs.

"So is it serious?" Ruth asked Sydney immediately, struggling to get comfortable on a tall bar stool. "You and Michael?"

Syd blushed, and Anne nudged her playfully while answering, "Duh! He met her parents already. Did they like him, by the way?"

"They're a little wary of pretty much everyone," She replied truthfully, peering down into her glass of water. "But I think my father's starting to turn. He doesn't try to kill him anymore, at least."

"That's always good," Allyson added.

"Do they know about his record?" Ruth queried.

Sydney rolled her eyes, and her dimples practically collapsed her cheeks. "Oh yeah. My dad's — well, they're both very thorough people. They know probably more than he does."

"Hey," Abby interjected, leaning back against the cabinets and addressing Anne, "what's up with you and Henry? Or is it you and Greg?"

Anne smoothed her hair back from her forehead while exhaling slowly. "God, I plead the fifth." Groans and chiding flew at her, as did peanut M&Ms. "Ah! Okay, okay! I'll answer!" Her voice dropped volume levels, and everyone automatically leaned closer. "Henry's been flirting with me all year, but he hasn't said anything to me or anyone else. Greg has." She smiled and averted her eyes towards the basement, seeing something else entirely. "I _really_ like Greg, and he really likes me. So until Henry does or says anything to — I don't know — change my mind, I have no reason to think he has any feelings for me whatsoever."

"So who do you like more? Who do you want to go out with? What would happen if Henry _did_ try something?"

The girl opened her mouth to respond, but at that moment, a massive groan practically shook the foundation of the house. "MOTZ!" Multiple male voices bellowed as the guys shoved their way up the stairs and into the kitchen, holding their noses and fanning away a gaseous odor.

"What!" The poor boy exclaimed, emerging from the basement utterly alone. "I had enchiladas for dinner! What do you expect?"

"What the _hell_ is going on down here?" Mrs. Hall demanded, pounding down the stairs in alarm. The guys pointed toward John, and she frowned knowingly. "All right. Some of you come down and help me air the place out."

Males and females began intermingling again, and Sydney began to think of this as a well-planned diversion. "Seriously, John," Joe said, grabbing a pop can from the refrigerator, "sometimes I think you have a problem."

"If you call not having a brain a problem," Anne added, grinning at her own insult. Henry sidled over to her side with two cans of Coke, offering one to her. She received it graciously, and they began chatting amiably about whatever video played on MTV. "I can't believe the Backstreet Boys are getting back together," She admonished, leaning against the island as he did the same, inching closer to her.

"What," He asked incredulously, "you weren't a BSB fan back in the day?"

"No way. I was totally an 'N Syncer. BSB was my mortal enemy. Along with Britney Spears."

"Justin?"

"No. Lance. I just hate Britney Spears."

Weiss glowered at the two of them from behind Sydney and Vaughn. "How hard would it be to set him up as a terrorist?"

"Not very." Syd discreetly leaned towards her fellow agents. "Didn't you hear about the kid from Naperville Central who almost got arrested by the FBI for checking out books from the library about the Taliban? He was writing an essay on totalitarianism."

"Yeah, could we do that?"

"You know what I told you about abusing the Patriot Act!"

Vaughn raised an eyebrow at his friend. "Jealousy is not a good colour on you, _mon ami."_

"Shut up, jackass," Weiss countered fiercely. "Like you were any better when you found out she slept with Noah. Or do you not remember Donovan running for cover as you threw a chair at me for asking if you had more beer?"

Sydney sniggered into her water as her boyfriend sneered. "Seems like someone needs his beauty rest. And we might get less than five hours of it. Let's hope my father will let us sleep on the plane."

"I'll drink to that," Vaughn interjected, taking a swig of Syd's water before heading for the basement again with the rest of the guys. _"A demain, cherie,"_ He whispered, not realizing all the girls heard him. They accosted Sydney with fawning, even as she tried to avoid them by practically diving into her sleeping bag. Cari and Taylor settled down as well, and as soon as they laid down, they fell asleep. Others started filtering onto the ground, and when Anne finally attempted to sleep, she had to drag Ruth under the pool table in order to sleep next to her best friend.

"Psst!" She stage-whispered. "Are you awake, Jane?"

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes she answered, "Yeah? What do you want?"

Her friend sighed in the dark, and Sydney could sense a heavy frown. "Henry asked me out to lunch tomorrow. God, Jane, what am I gonna do?"

'_Oh no. Can I plead conflict of interests? Weiss is one of my best friends, but he's going to break her heart. Good luck with this one.'_

"Jane?"

"It's only lunch," She replied slowly, voice still fuzzy with fatigue. "What's the harm? You're friends; it's entirely normal. If you're really worried about it, make it a group thing."

'_Just don't tell Weiss.'_

"Thanks. You're the best."

'_Yeah, and there goes my hope for sleep. Yay for guilt.'_

**

* * *

**

"—Beta, Charlie, and Delta teams will rendezvous with us in country. Any questions?"

"Yeah, where's the floor?"

Jack frowned at the male agent as he struggled with an all-too-small blanket and Dixon tried to hide his smile. "It would serve you well, Agent Vaughn, to sleep more than four hours before a mission."

"In his defense, Dad," Sydney interjected, lacing up her boots and tying them firmly, "he _did_ sleep more than four hours. Most of them were on this plane, though..." A yawn broke her sentence, and Dixon outright laughed.

"We've had worse, haven't we, Syd?" He reminisced over the sound of the cargo plane's jets. "Remember three years ago with SD-6? Buenos Aires, back to Los Angeles, and then on to Beijing in twenty-four hours."

"How much caffeine did we have that night?"

"Enough to make an elephant go into shock."

Marshall, who had strapped himself against the metal shell of the plane with the straps of a parachute pack, poked his head into the conversation. "You know, caffeine isn't the best way to stay awake, what with the massive energy crash and all. I learned that the hard way. In college, somehow all my finals got scheduled on the same day — or maybe that was just one of my nightmares—"

"We've reached altitude. We'll be over the target in five minutes."

All five agents glanced at one another before moving towards the door, despite Marshall trying to practically climb into the cockpit. Jack eventually strapped the technology genius into his double harness, and one by one they jumped off the plane into the night sky. All Sydney could think of as the air rushed past her ears (besides the plastic pull cable in her right hand) was the immense magnitude of the mission. The safety of their future, their country, their school, their friends lay inherent in their success. It could be the final step in killing the entire monster instead of nibbling at its toe like they had been doing. They could nab Lara and Sark and prevent thousands of children and teens from being used and abused for Black Market profit.

But no pressure.

Somehow she hit the ground without killing herself, and was in the process of gathering her parachute when seven black vans skidded to a halt around them, kicking up clouds of dry, fresh snow. Dixon, Vaughn, Jack, and Marshall (looking whiter than the fluff beneath her feet) filled in around her, peering warily at the vehicles.

One of the passenger doors swung open, and an agent hopped down spritely. The tall, curvy frame suggested a woman; even in the extreme darkness (the trucks traveled without headlights), Sydney could distinguish familiar features. The woman shined a flashlight into the faces of the new arrivals, making Sydney see spots, before she offered a muted laugh and tugged off her ski mask, releasing curly hair. "It's about time," Cassidy Malone chided, tossing the flashlight to her Los Angeles female counterpart. Her smile flashed in the bright light as she motioned to the caravan pointedly. "Stash your equipment and we'll be on our way. Bristow — uh, _little_ Bristow, you're with me." Syd and Vaughn paused as Cassidy hauled herself into the van again, and without glancing back she added, "Naturally, I meant you, too, Agent Vaughn. Now get in before I kick your cute butt."

They complied, clambering into the back of the industrial vehicle with their bags of gear, and Cassidy joined them after verifying the reception of the 'mail' with Base Ops. She sat next to the pair as they assembled weapons and checked which objects were Marshall's gadgets and which were...pens. "So," She began, folding her hands between her knees as she leaned forwards, "fancy seeing you two here. I thought you'd be at a...pep rally or something."

"It's Spring Break," Vaughn replied tersely, slamming a clip into his gun.

She nodded silently, and Sydney stilled her movement. "What are you doing here? Isn't this the only time you get to be with Tressaut — I mean, Mark?" She grimaced in the dark at her incredibly stupid slip of the tongue, and hoped Cassidy would ignore it.

In the minuscule light, Cassidy raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "When you doubled with SD-6, did you spend your off time shackin' up with Agent Hottie over here?" Both Los Angeles agents frowned and continued with their respective tasks. "To answer your question, Charles Tressaut is spending the week in Seattle with his girlfriend Ingrid. Mark Malone, on the other hand, is temporarily sleeping at the Egg and will be on the other side of these comm pieces as soon as we turn them on."

"One minute out."

Sydney nearly jumped out of her skin at the gruff voice from the front seat. She glanced at Vaughn, and their gazes locked in the dim light. Their eyes radiated the same statement: _'It's go time.'_

Cassidy rose and crouched under the low ceiling. "We'll go over op-tech with the rest of the team upon arrival. Good luck." She then climbed back into her original seat.

The two agents began repacking their gear as the van began to slow and swerve, presumably around trees. Without glancing up he murmured placidly, "Sark could be there. Lara."

She peered up at him under her eyebrows. "They won't surrender to us."

He sighed heavily as he viciously zippered his pack. "I know. I'm just telling you...If I get the shot, I'm gonna take it."

Glaring at him in surprise she replied, "That's not what I meant! We need to know the full reach of their organization."

"But you said—"

"I said I want to kick her ass, not paint the wall with her brains. Large difference." The van lurched to a stop unexpectedly, sending the two agents careening into the only two seats in the vehicle. Cassidy redundantly announced their arrival and hopped out, shortly followed by Sydney and Vaughn. The compound immediately monopolized their view.

The former trees now lay a good space behind them, and the vans circled in what could only be described as the moat. The agents stood equidistant between the forest and Sark's palace, and Sydney merely stared. A round stone wall curved off into the distance, and a four-story compound peeked up over the crenelation-style top, indicating a fusion of czar-like elegance and Communist efficiency. All large spotlights angled inwards shining on the inner courtyard, and no guards marched along the wall or patrolled the balcony landings.

Which should have tipped off everyone.

Instead, scores of agents poured from the vehicles and gathered around a woman, obviously the on-site team leader. She rose a fist for silence and immediately received it, forcing an inappropriate snort from Sydney's nose. Cassidy frowned at her, and she whispered, "Sorry. She reminds me of a teacher. What's her name?"

"Lauren. The CIA flew her in from New Jersey just for this mission. They're expecting a little much from a compound that _might_ be connected with the _Negro/Azuls_. But that's my opinion. No one ever listens to Cassidy; no, that would be logical—"

"Malone!" The woman snapped, lips a thin line. Cassidy waved impertinently but remained silent. "Thank you. As I was saying Alpha, Beta, and Charlie teams each have a section of the compound to explore. Delta team will wait in the vans and monitor the radio frequency and camera feeds for problems. If you need an emergency extraction and need to abort, the code word is 'rose.' You've all been equipped with maps detailing your sector. Remember, if you see Sark or Andropov, corner and detain. I repeat, corner and detain. Any questions?" Even the idling vans seemed to silence for a moment. "Good. We rendezvous here in one hour. Good luck."

Another agent wove throughout the crowd handing out repelling equipment. Sydney sighed wryly before eventually seeking out Dixon and Jack and, along with Vaughn, they began climbing the thick outer wall. She let her thoughts wander to keep her mind off muscles unused for some time.

What would _she_ do if she found Lara? Or Sark, for that matter? If _she_ had the shot, would she take it, or follow her own sermon? She did not know. Sark's round face loomed in her mind's eye. She had yet to endure a moment when she did _not_ want to punch the smirk off his face, but the information he could (and most certainly would) provide outweighed her gun's siren call.

But what intelligence could Lara possibly disclose? Analysts currently labeled her status as a lower-level affiliate. She dealt with public relations/image and recruiting; thus ended her role. If that were the case, then it did not matter what action Sydney eventually took. But why did Sark invite the teenager to his compound in _Russia_ over Spring Break? To discuss numbers in bed over vodka and toast? It made no sense to Sydney. Something else — something deeper — must have been going on.

Therefore no happy-happy-fun-fun target practice for Syd.

Upon arriving at their quadrant, Sydney's team further divided the area, and the leader assigned her and Vaughn the task of gathering documents from Sark's personal study. With one last glance at Jack and Dixon, they trotted silently down a corridor.

"You haven't said a word since we broke with Cassidy," Vaughn whispered, flicking on the comm piece in his ear. They flattened against opposite walls and checked the hallway that intersected their own. "What's up?"

"Nothing," She replied honestly. She nodded to her side of the invading hall, and they hurried off. "I was just thinking — about Lara."

"Follow your own advice, Syd," He warned, covering their backs with a raised weapon. "Double standards won't work with us." Suddenly two guards emerge from parallel corridors, and both agents instinctively opened fire. Vaughn's fell immediately while Sydney's required coercion in the form of an elbow to the temple.

Locking gazes, they began jogging in the explicit direction of Sark's study. She regained a normal breathing rate and finally replied, "I know. I was just..._reevaluating_ my advice." She flipped on her own comm piece. "But if the bitch poses the merest threat to either of us, I won't hesitate to take her out. _Hard."_

"Ah, Sydney," A familiar voice practically purred over her comm. "You join us at last. It's not like you to be late — or, at least, it's not like _Jane."_

Sydney abruptly halted in the middle of the hall and said at a normal volume, "Tressaut?" Another gun-toting, mask-clad guard appeared around a corner, and both agents opened fire, sending his body back out of sight with two tranq darts on opposite sides of his chest. She turned her attention back to her earpiece. "What the hell are you doing?" She whispered sharply, remembering to keep her volume in check. Vaughn motioned for them to take a left, but what looked like a hallway was actually an alcove. They glared at each other in confusion before Sydney finally shook her head and suggested they retrace their steps, heading the other direction down the same hall.

"Didn't Cassidy tell you?" Tressaut/Malone murmured in their ears. "I'm monitoring you guys from Chi-Town. Spring Break applies to teachers, too, you know."

"I know," She retorted quickly, indignant at her initial response. _Of course_ teachers received time off! It was just a little creepy to talk to a 'teacher' outside of school, let alone on a mission. She needed to overcome that hurdle — and fast.

This time their designated path opened up into an actual hallway, but unfortunately, it came coupled with four guards to deal with. After darting two of them and forcing the other two into submission, Vaughn leaned against the wall and breathed heavily. "Is it just me, or are there a lot more guards than usual?"

The pair turned a corner, coming face-to-face with yet another guard. Tripping him into the wall, Sydney replied, "It's not just you. What the hell's going on?" The same thought occurred to them simultaneously. "You think—"

"—It can't be—"

"—That Lara's here?"

"Whatever it is, you've got another two coming at you from your left — NOW!" Malone broke in tensely. They ducked into their next hallway destination, and Sydney took care of the guards as Vaughn quickly reloaded his gun and also extracted his _real_ weapon.

"It's like they know exactly where we're going to be," Sydney breathed once the men slumped to the floor, unconscious. "There's _definitely_ something up."

"Okay, new plan," Malone said, obvious by his tone that he was shifting papers — blueprints, schematics, maps. "Does one of you have a full map — one including the east half of the building?"

Vaughn checked his bag quickly, brow wrinkled in consternation and confusion. "Yeah, I do. Why?"

"The building's symmetrical," He explained as if having a momentary epiphany. "This could be a trap; the documents could actually be on the complete opposite side of the building."

"What are you suggesting?" Sydney ground out, frustrated.

"I don't know!" exclaimed Malone, voice straining in desperation. "I'm not usually on this side of the conversation!"

Vaughn turned to his partner, brandishing the map. "There's too many clues pointing the other way. We need to try the east side of the building. And we only have—" a glance at his watch "—forty-seven minutes. It'll take at least fifteen to get over there, another fifteen to find the room and anything inside—"

"Then go!" She urged, starting down the way they were previously heading. "I'll keep going this way. Maybe it's not a trap—"

He grabbed her bicep firmly, a tough feat to accomplish as her entire body was three times thicker than normal. "I won't let you go into a trap willingly. No way in hell."

"You don't know that's what it is." He stared at her, desperately attempting to change her mind, but she merely yanked herself away. "I swear to God, Vaughn, if you don't leave right now...If I get into trouble, I'll open my channel to the common frequency. Better? Now go!" Not waiting for a response, she began sprinting down the corridor, following the well-memorized plan dancing through her brain.

Deep in her mind, her thoughts conflicted. This whole excursion might be a set-up; the alcove discovery red-flagged in her memory. But they could not take the chance; they needed to cover all their bases, and she wanted to do the covering.

After that first incident with the alcove/hallway, every direction had been spot-on; every corridor stretched out in the direction it was supposed to. But before she reached the doorway, Vaughn's voice crept into her ear again. "Chameleon, I've reached the nest; going for the eggs now."

"Are you kidding?" She blurted out in a breathy whisper, not halting until she came upon the supposed door of the office. "How did you get there so quickly?"

"I haven't run into a guard yet," He replied. She heard paper rustling through the comm piece. "And I think I just found—"

After quickly weighing the pros and cons in her head, her hand flew to the doorknob as her mouth interrupted her partner. "I don't think this is a trap. I'm going in."

"Sydney, NO!"

The door banged open, but the high ceilings met with tall bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes and lamps with green shades typical of a den or study did not meet her eyes. Instead, cement encased stale air that breezed past her as the pressure escaped. A blonde man clad in black slacks and a turtleneck turned around slowly, one hand gripping a wineglass while the other immersed itself in his pocket. Blue eyes met brown, and Sydney immediately raised her gun to shoot, but the weapon only clicked; she used her last dart on the last guard, and she never reloaded. Sark swirled his glass extraneously. "Sydney Bristow. Well, this is certainly a surprise. No matter; I have what I need now." He extracted his concealed hand and aimed his own tranquilizer gun at her head.

"Son of a b—"

**

* * *

**

"Sydney? Syd? Oh God, Syd, please wake up..."

"Stop slapping my cheeks and I might consider it." The world stopped jiggling up and down, coercing her to slowly open her eyes. Voices in the background blurred like her vision at first, continually rolling up and down like wherever the hell they were...

She tried to sit up, but the world began spinning on its axis faster than she liked, and she placed a hand on her forehead in order to buffer her jostling brain, and found a slightly damp gauze pad covering her skin. Her eyes opened completely and Vaughn's concerned face slowly materialized along with the sensation of his cool hand on her warm cheek. Peering over to her right, Cassidy's hunched back faced them as she rapidly chatted away on her cell phone and cracked her knuckles at the same time. Jet engines roared just below the level of the rolling voices, confusing Sydney even further. She began shifting her eyes about rapidly, trying to absorb her surroundings, but a sudden bout of turbulence hit only her stomach, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut in order to bring the world back to equilibrium.

"Vaughn, where the hell are we? What happened? Can you help me sit up?"

He sighed as he aided his girlfriend in righting and propping herself against the shell of the plane. She leaned into him as she took in their environment. The entire cargo plane seemed to be overrun with agents from the mission. A small group of obvious techies gathered around Marshall, nearly worshiping his every word. (Sydney thought she saw Jason Sterne in the fray.) Analysts passed around papers from computer to computer as others ran from team leaders with instructions or executive decisions.

The mission was obviously over.

So where the hell has she been?

Making sure Cassidy still occupied herself with her phone, Vaughn turned to Sydney, subconsciously grasping one of her hands. "The _Negro/Azuls_ suspected a mole in their organization, and the schematics in Lara's locker were there as a test. They planted information about Sark's compound, procured fake blueprints, and then waited to see who would show up. The actual documents were on the other side of the building. That's why there were so many guards on the west side: they were tasked with catching the mole."

"Did you get the documents?" She asked, guessing the answer from the amount of hubbub.

He nodded. "As soon as you went down, I opened my channel, and Alpha Team swarmed to your location, but Sark was gone by the time I got there. He shot you with a tranq, which is probably why you want to throw up right now. Loading you onto the plane while you were unconscious probably wasn't the smartest thing to do, but it wasn't my call." Vaughn hurled a withering glare at Cassidy, and Sydney managed a half smile. Peering down at his girlfriend again, he squeezed her hand tighter. "When I heard you hit the floor — God, I couldn't think! I couldn't _breathe._ I thought I'd lost you, Syd. I had no idea what Sark was doing to you, if you were still alive..._Never_ be that stubborn again. Promise me."

She was not going to promise something she might not be able to live up to, and as they locked gazes, she communicated as much. He frowned and knotted his eyebrows, but continued all the same. She sighed heavily and settled farther into her boyfriend's embrace. "Why didn't Sark take me anywhere? It's not like him to leave loose ends."

"He got what he wanted," Vaughn answered simply, shrugging in earnest. "He wanted to know what was going on with the _Negro/Azuls._ And he got that."

"But what did the documents say?"

Her sighing turned contagious as his chest heaved beneath her shoulder. His voice shrank to just above a whisper, barely audible over every other noise in the space. "That's just the thing. There were numerous documents detailing plans to take over the school gradually and turn it into a recruitment centre — all covert, of course; most of the turnover would occur during the summer. But they made no secret about wanting this done as quickly and efficiently as possible. Which is why they're recruiting younger and younger students: they could lead an uprising if necessary."

Sydney cradled her head in her hands as she absorbed the information. His own school within the boarders of the United States? Was that not a little ambitious, even for Sark? And the students...! Children, really; entire generations would be converted into little Sark puppets for him to use however and whenever he wished. Death by the age of twenty would practically be guaranteed. Sadness overwhelmed her body completely, compelling her to tremble with the strength of the emotion. Her hand shook within his grip, and tears backed up along the brims of her eyes like students in overcrowded stairwells.

They had no idea this was even coming.

"What can we do about it?" That was not her voice; her voice did not sound meek and mild, almost defeated, almost pushed beyond the brink. She swallowed the lump of utter despair disguised as her heart in her throat and tried again. "What _are_ we going to do about it?"

He looked her square in the eyes as he replied, "I honestly don't know, Syd. They know we're here. Our entire operation could be blown."

"They're going to turn the school into some fucked-up version of 'Full Metal Jacket'!" She cried, wincing in disgust.

"Well, we're just screwed all around, aren't we?"

Laying her head upon his shoulder, she braced herself in resignation. She released a long, slow breath, willing the happiness she felt not twenty-four hours ago to return. It did not. "Yep. And all we can do now is wait."

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

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**_

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: **The Waiting Game

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	29. The Waiting Game

**There's, like, three actual chapters left after this. What could possibly change now?**

**This Chapter:** An awkward pool party to end Spring Break, more Prom talk, speculation about the baddie Sark, and a countdown to everyone's favourite Cliffhanger Monsters

**Chapter Genre:** Anxiety and apprehension.

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Welcome to Paradise" by Green Day, "Addicted" by Simple Plan, "All Kinds of Time" by Fountains of Wayne, "Warning" by Incubus, and silence for the end.

**Author's Note:** This chapter, as the title suggests, is pretty much filler, but it serves to draw out tension, and it was fun to write, but it seemed to take forever. As originally written, the dates were pretty close to actual events, but to make it even more _Alias_-like, I played around with some dates in previous chapters. Just believe me: everything checks out. Enjoy!

**

* * *

**

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: The Waiting Game**

_Day 6_

"Okay, whose bright idea was this?"

"Allyson."

"Allyson."

"Allyson."

"What! It was totally my mom's idea!"

"Since when do you listen to Mom, Allyson?"

Silence. Then, "Shut up! It was hot this morning when we went to Greg's first baseball game. How was I to know the water was only...seventy-two degrees? Screw that! I'm getting out." She tried to exit the pool via the ladder, but both Matt and Mike grabbed an arm and hauled her back into the cold water, effectively splashing Anne. She clung to the ladder for dear life and gasped, shaking her hair and splashing Syd, who sat a few feet down the edge. Everyone laughed as Allyson wiped the hair out of her eyes, attempting to avoid the drowned rat look, and threatened, "You know, I remember where the hot dogs are. I could conveniently forget at any moment." Her boyfriend paused in thought before proceeding to dunk her in the deep end.

Syd giggled again as Vaughn treaded water beside her legs. It was the second to last day before Spring Break ended, and after watching the first game of Weiss's double-header, Syd, Vaughn, Anne, Henry, Allyson, Matt, Mike, Joe, and John Wakowski decided to go swimming at the twins' house. After the mission in Russia, it had been increasingly hard to maintain her cover, what with ideas of Sark kicking down the door at any minute swimming through her mind constantly. Sydney tried to keep time spent in large groups down to a minimum, but when Anne called her up and invited her to go swimming after Weiss's baseball game, she literally could not refuse: her friend would not take 'no' for an answer.

Sydney, Anne, and the other student/agents hung out practically every day: shooting pool at Weiss's house, watching movies at Syd's, making music videos at the elementary school by Anne's house. The respective pairs looked as cozy as ever, Anne and Weiss teasing about PDA's and playful innuendo from Sydney and Vaughn. Anne never mentioned her pseudo-lunch date with Henry, and Sydney never asked; she did not deem it her place, although she was dying to know what happened. (Vaughn diagnosed her with an unhealthy case of High School-Induced Gossipitis. She tried to shove a pillow down his throat.)

The guilt, however, began eating at her, slowly disintegrating her body from the inside out. Sark knew of the agents' presence now, and their association with students — especially one who was almost recruited by his organization — could jeopardize _all_ of them.

And a recruiting school? What the...How...Ah! The idea was too asinine for her mind to comprehend. A fully-functional school of evil out in the middle of an American suburb? It was impractical, faulty, crazy, _stupid_...but so much so that it just might have worked. If he phased the new 'teachers' in gradually as he planned, no one would ever notice. And the kids would be ripe for the taking, all at different stages of development.

But they interrupted that plan: he could no longer introduce his plants gradually. With any luck, he could not take over the school. But that was the problem; trying to predict Sark's next move always proved more treacherous than it sounded. His plans for Glenfield's future were as uncertain as before they went to Russia.

So while Sydney pushed the nauseating thoughts to the back of her mind, she tried to enjoy the rest of Spring Break. The one day Anne could not do anything ("Mom cornered me last night, and as a result, I'm at the bike shop right now. Pray for me"), Weiss and Marshall established another video conference with Will and Francie. After the latter squealed happily in a voice only dogs could hear about some meaningless trinket from the Eiffel Tower — Sydney marveled yet again at the CIA's thoroughness — the agents talked about meaningless fluff for two hours. Syd found herself wanting to relate side-splitting anecdotes about Anne and her friends: Francie would have been rolling around on the floor after learning of their escapades in Target after a half day of school. But she gave in to her conscience and bit her tongue, laughing heartily instead at a story about one of Francie's new waiter/actors at the restaurant. On cue, Weiss called Fran's cell phone from the first floor of his house posing as an emergency at the restaurant; she had to leave immediately, allowing Will a few moments alone with the field agents.

After congratulating them on their success in Russia (and asking about Sydney's health), he proceeded to blatantly voice Syd's inner thoughts and fears. By putting them into words, he unwittingly validated and solidified them, sinking Sydney's stomach to an impossibly new depth. If he — an analyst with all the information at his fingertips and the time to put it together — could not fathom a prediction as to the next chapter of events, what hope was there for them?

To close the overall depressing video conference, Will clapped his hands together and concluded, "Basically, we have no idea what's coming or when it's going to arrive. Good luck!"

Her stomach flip-flopped just thinking about the entire situation.

But that all changed as she noticed Henry sneaking up on her best friend. She almost called out to Anne, but a hand on her calf laid to rest any protests. Mike and Joe were trying to convince her to enter on her own accord while desperately keeping their eyes away from the extremely obvious amateur spy. Joe splashed her with a large wave and coaxed, "See? You're already wet. Why not just hop in?"

Anne shook her head adamantly, wet hair sticking to her neck as she folded her arms across her chest. She indignantly raised her nose at all of them. "Not on your under-sexed life, buddy. A million dollars could not get me into this pool."

Henry chose that time to strike. "How 'bout a push?" He planted his foot squarely in the middle of her back and kicked, making sure she did not hit the ladder with guiding hands on her shoulders. But that generosity cost him: even as she fell forward, she grasped onto those hands and pulled him in right on top of her. Sydney and Vaughn could not help but laugh as the two teens floundered and sputtered in the water, a tangled concoction of limbs as Henry tried to keep her under, and she executed a sweeping kick underwater.

The latter finally surfaced in victory and swam to the lip of the oval pool. "Do y'all really think I'm that stupid?" She queried incredulously, still trying to regain her breath. "I totally saw that coming a mile away! Great job, Henry. Don't try out for the CIA anytime soon. Please. For the good of the country."

Sydney and Vaughn gulped self-consciously.

Henry shook his long hair like a dog in Anne's direction before turning his roving gaze back onto his friends. "Okay. So who's next?" Everyone glared at Sydney, the only other person _not_ yet in the pool.

She held up her hands in surrender as she quickly slid into the frigid water. "Alright, alright. I'm in. Just don't let Rover touch me." Huddling against Vaughn's broad, bare chest for warmth, she shuddered as the sun went behind yet another fluffy cumulus cloud.

"Hey Allyson?" Anne asked, voice echoing over the water. "How deep does this pool go?" She clung to the edge, warily watching Henry with one eye while beseeching her friend with the other. Her friend laughed and said that it went down to about six feet, but it was still raised around the lip. So Anne began inching around to the point farthest away from Sydney to where the heater pumped precious warmth into the pool.

The conversation continued around them, advancing from the phallic symbol cloud to summer jobs to stupid things Joe's ancient dog Coco would do to a person's leg if it remained immobile for long enough. Joe glanced back up at the sky and moaned. "Man! Our penis cloud deflated. It's now a — hey Anne, what're you doing?"

She had not moved from her spot since the beginning of the conversation. Shrugging, she kept her arms tightly hugging her chest. "Advanced calculus — what do you think?"

"Speaking of which," Henry butted in, attempting to provoke Matt by poking him in the back of the head with a foam noodle, "has anyone done _any_ of their homework?"

Even Sydney could not confess to cracking a book open during the week, despite the fact that she had a lab write-up due the following Monday in AP Chemistry among other assignments. She figured either Anne or John Motz would bail her out before school on Monday. That scenario looked increasingly unlikely as they all peered at Anne, who shook her head slowly with chattering teeth. "Nope," She stated, clapping her bluish lips together as if to conserve breath. "It seems like I've been getting lazier and lazier. One day I'm going to turn into Allyson."

"What, an extension of Matt?" Mike quipped. Allyson's boyfriend promptly dunked him.

Allyson threw her female friend a Look. "Define 'lazier.' Does that mean you don't do your homework at home? You leave it until the morning it's due?"

Anne's eyes darted about in exaggerated thought before she pouted, "Shut _up!"_

"Hate to break it to ya," Joe said, "but that's not lazy. See, at least you're still _doing_ homework, unlike the rest of us. I haven't opened my math book since first semester finals, if that."

"Sad," Vaughn finally contributed in his accent, proudly smiling at his use of the American teen slang. Sydney grinned up at him in amusement, and he wrapped his arms around her to shield her from the sudden gust of wind.

"Yeah, Senioritis hit me _bad_," Joe continued, bobbing like a cork in the shallow end. "I think it also ate my will to work. ALLYSON: work for me tonight, and I'll work for you on Thursday."

"No way! I don't want to deal with Jessica tonight."

"Where do you guys work?" Sydney asked, a bit perturbed at the notion that she did not know every small detail about everyone she befriended.

The twins gave each other a withering look. "White Castle," They answered in unison, their tones matching their façades. Allyson elaborated, "They suck ass. _Hard._ But it's the best that's out there right now. Getting a job without experience isn't possible."

"But then how do you get experience?" Syd was truly interested in this topic, as opposed to the erectile dysfunction disorder (pending true diagnosis) of the penis cloud.

"That the thing!" Henry exclaimed, serious for once. "You can't get the experience until you get a job, and you can't get a job until you've got the experience. It doesn't make sense. You just gotta hope like _hell_ that someone's nice and takes a chance on you." He threw a sidelong glance at Anne out the corner of his eyes. "Anne, seriously, what the _hell_ are you doing?"

She peered furtively into the water at her feet. "Standing by the heater..." She looked up and met his gaze "...and blocking it from you." Her confident tone melted into peels of sharp laughter as Rover/Henry began chasing her around the pool, attempting to corner her in the deep end where she could not touch the bottom. But despite her less-than-sleek appearance, she escaped his grasp, lithely diving out of reach every time he thought he caught her.

Vaughn rested his chin on his girlfriend's shoulder near her ear. After his tongue darted out to taste her earlobe, he whispered in his normal voice, "We'd be short a friend if Weiss were here right now."

Sighing, Sydney silently agreed. "I have no idea what's going on in this twisted triangle, and frankly, they're all adult enough to eventually figure it out." Henry surfaced and spit water in Anne's ear. "Maybe. God, sometimes I think I should swear off men forever — they're too complicated, too needy."

"What about me?" Vaughn queried, adding his accent as he allowed his volume to rise.

She bit back a smile by continuing to watch the soap opera before them. "You're not a man, Michael; you're my boyfriend."

Even Anne and Henry paused in order to have a good chuckle at Vaughn's expense, but as the former flashed her friend the 'rock on' hand symbol, Henry finally captured her with the noodle so that he hugged her close to his chest. He began dragging her towards the deep end, kicking and screaming all the way; but as the bottom dropped out, her feet floundered, and she eventually stopped thrashing and merely sulked in his grip. Lowering his massive head next to hers, he whispered something only she could hear, and Sydney turned to face her boyfriend with a raised eyebrow and worried countenance.

"Innocent, or bedroom-worthy?"

Vaughn discreetly assessed the two of them over Sydney's shoulder. "I don't know. She's practically unreadable. I just hope Weiss doesn't—"

"Am I interrupting anything?" Weiss, in a pair of orange swimming trunks and carrying a towel, paused at the edge of the deck, his toes curling in anger over the weathered wood. As if privy to his inner thoughts, she believed she saw his countenance change from surprised to angry to betrayed to calm and collected. No one else but Vaughn would notice, of course, as they knew their best friend better than anyone, and...well, they were spies. Weiss climbed up onto the wood around the raised pool and dropped his towel on top of Anne's on a deck chair and removed his cell phone from a pocket.

Sydney's gaze shot immediately to Anne, waiting in curious anticipation for her unpredictable reaction. But despite the girl's inexperience in dealing with unexpected turns of events, her features remained abnormally schooled and consistent. If anything, her grin brightened and felt more inviting. "About time your lazy ass decided to show up. A doubleheader is no excuse to be late. Dude, jump in! The water's gr—oh, who the hell am I kidding? It's fricking freezing. Run! Run while you can still move your joints!" To punctuate her point, she pretended to have trouble bending her fingers, never mind the fact that she had to extricate her arm from Henry's grip in order to _make_ the point.

"Why don't you just get out then?" Joe mocked, splashing her and giving Henry a reason to relinquish his hold on her.

She floundered for a moment in the deep end before eventually finding her way back to the side (and the heater, miraculously). Seeming to think about the proposition for a moment, she shook her head. "Meh. Too lazy."

Weiss cannonballed right in, taking away the initial shock and delivering a nice wave to Henry's face at the same time. Sidling over to his fellow agents, he sank into the water so that only his head showed and surveyed the teens through narrowed eyes. "What has he done to her?"

"Whoa, down boy," Sydney whispered, discreetly placing a hand on his shoulder. "It doesn't matter. You need to calm down before you talk to anyone else. I don't want to bail your ass out of jail after you're court-martialed."

Her friend sighed heavily, his head falling backwards to thump against the vinyl siding. "I just don't understand this kid. Why can't he, I don't know, _leave her alone?"_

"It's not like she has 'property of Greg' stamped across her forehead," Sydney quipped, rolling her eyes as Matt brought up the flaccid penis cloud again.

Vaughn offered an echoing laugh to maintain cover. "Don't give him any ideas, dear." Shifting his girlfriend so that he leaned against the edge closer to his best friend, Vaughn murmured tersely, "Who did she go out with on Valentine's Day?"

"Me," Weiss responded meekly.

"Who is she going to Prom with?"

"Me."

"Who did she spend most of the week with in his basement?"

"That's borderline-kinky, Agent Vaughn." A stern look. "Alright, alright. Me. I get it. I'll shut up now."

A cloud passed over the sun yet again, and the entire group groaned and migrated towards the ladder of salvation. They piled out and sprawled over the deck and connected porch in various positions, trying in vain to warm up in what little sun was available. Matt and Allyson remained near the pool, citing that no one was likely to roll Matt in and that "it's cooler lakeside." Joe and John Wakowski lounged on chairs, their wet suits dripping profusely onto the deck. Vaughn, head resting on a towel on a wooden step, laid out with Sydney's head on his stomach, rising and falling with each deep breath he took. Anne sprawled face-down on a plastic bench perfectly suited to her height while Weiss stretched out between two stools, his feet practically in her face. Henry occupied himself with attempting to roll up and down the stairs like a log.

As the uncomfortable cloud passed and the sun emerged once again, Sydney's skin tingled from more than just the warmth. Again, a feeling of overwhelming belonging flooded her veins. They laid around, _saying nothing,_ and she would still classify this day as one of the most fun in her entire life. Even Sark could not touch this moment; or so she thought.

"Hey, didja know Reynolds's retiring this year?" Anne asked no one in particular, not even bothering to lift her head.

"'Take a wight at the wight' Reynolds? Drivers' Ed Reynolds?" Joe asked, lisping his first question in an imitation of the teacher. "Shit. That makes three, 'cause Striker from Business Tech and Larson from English are retiring. Is there something in the water?"

Anne shrugged, and Henry stopped tumbling halfway down the stairs in order to throw in his two cents. "Didn't a bunch of teachers retire last year? Like Reed and Powers and Cayman?"

"Yeah," Anne said, nodding into the bench. "Dude, they're either getting pregnant or leaving. What's up with _that?"_

Despite themselves, the three agents exchanged worried glances. The replacement plan in action. He already implemented it _last year?_ Not for the first time, Sydney wondered whether they were called in too late.

But her rumbling stomach interrupted her thoughts and their lack of conversation, and everyone chuckled lightly. At the same time, the majority of the teens called out, "Allyson, get us food!"

"Screw you!"

"Allyson!" Anne whined, throwing the noodle at her friend's head and missing horribly. "If you get food, I promise that the next time Matt attacks you, I won't just sit and laugh."

"You won't cheer him on or help either?"

"Nope. Food. Go. Now,"

"Fine." As Allyson went to find the food, Joe and Mike started building a fire with which to cook.

Everyone began moving towards them very slowly, and as Weiss toweled himself off, he asked, "Hey, whose bright idea was this, anyway?"

"Allyson."

"Allyson."

"Allyson."

"Okay, that's getting really old now."

**

* * *

**

_Day 8_

If Sydney thought handling Spring Break was hard, then school was the ninth ring of Hell. Going through the all-too-familiar motions — ones she long ago perfected — served as daily torture. Which teachers were already plants, already under Sark's control? She honestly could not tell. Maybe her young American History teacher Bretts supplied arms to the _Negro/Azuls_ after school. Or could Vaughn's Geometry teacher, Mr. Babel, be whispering school board secrets to the other side? As far as she could tell, no intelligence they received so far indicated what the planted teachers would teach once they reached the school. Did Sark order them to launch their programs right away, or wait until their leaders secured the entire building? Both held obvious disadvantages and bonuses for the team of agents.

If the pseudo-teachers already incorporated gang doctrine into their lesson plans, then certain students walked the halls like mini sleeper cells with too little information to actually be aware of it, but just enough to be assets to the _Negro/Azuls_. So it may have been too late for some teenagers. But on the other hand, if the agents recognized suspicious inconsistencies in new teachers' lessons, they could take them out without alerting anyone. Their different thinking and fresh-out-of-the-box status singled them out.

The alternative, however, seemed much more likely to Sydney. If the teachers lay in waiting, listening for confirmation from Sark, the sweeping changes would be made and blamed merely on a new administration. Many changes equaled no net change. If the transition took long enough, some of the plants could achieve the coveted tenure, therefore leaving them nearly untouchable to the school board or Parent/Teacher Organization — if _those_ had not been infiltrated by now. This plan both helped and harmed the agents, because while it hurt no innocent teenagers, it would be much harder to root out the offending teachers.

Sydney's stomach twisted into one of the tightest sailor's knots whenever she combed over the scenarios in her head. Both had problems, risks, losses that she just did not want to deal with at the time. Maybe the Senioritis affected her, too, but all she wanted to do when she thought of Sark or the _Negro/Azuls_ or the new intelligence gathered in Russia was stick her fingers in her ears and run around in circles singing "Pop! Goes the Weasel" at the top of her lungs. Could she not be settled, content, _happy_ for once in her life? Just for _one day?_

Apparently not.

Sark and Sloane and _her mother_ would always see to that—

"—And I think Jane can handle the pictures. Is that good for everyone? Awesome. Okay, one more time: Taylor and Allyson are working on getting either two stretch limos for eight or an SUV limo for eighteen. Make sure it doesn't cost more than the actual Prom ticket, please? Then Abby's working on some spa/nail salon dealie for the day or weekend before. If you can't figure anything out, then whose sister can do it? Motz's brother's fiancée? Whoa, hold on...Okay, I got it. That's cool. I'll figure out some choices for the weekend after Prom and All Night Long — everyone's got their tickets for that, right? It's at Gameworks this year, can you believe it! Yeah anyways...I'll figure something out. And Jane, you've gotta pick a spot for pictures. And don't say Katie Goode's house, because we don't like her anymore. Long story; tell ya later. Or that park in Jaynestown or the gazeebo in Sugarville; those places are popular this year."

"Are we free to go, O' Mighty Mistress of All Things Prom?"

"No. Does anyone else absolutely _hate_ the theme this year?"

"Heh, yeah!"

"Yes."

"Definitely."

"_So_ hate it."

"We-Go to Hollywood. First they taint Homecoming, and now this! I mean, seriously! Come on! Clearly someone needs to grow an imagination, here."

That was another thing.

Prom.

Immediately — on their first day back to school — talking and planning and hyping Prom erupted and simply would not abate. During her own high school years, Sydney never attended Prom: no one asked her, and she did not have enough friends to feel confident about going alone. She always wanted to go, but if she had known how much work the event involved...She could not guarantee that the dream would have survived the nineties.

But whenever Anne smiled or conspired with her about dresses or a possible double breakfast date the morning after, the ordeal seemed somewhat bearable.

And so time elapsed, both on the back of a winged chariot and dragging behind a turtle, enormously slowing its pace. Days flipped by quickly while hours stretched on into eternity. The time before school spent planning Senior Ditch Day (the Monday after Prom weekend) seemed a fraction of the time spent in Dance class. They finally settled on going to the Children's Museum in Chicago and acting like three-year-olds during the day and a bonfire at Henry's house at night.

**

* * *

**

_Day 17_

The second and last Government simulation came and went with few notable surprises. It lasted all day, and as a result, Sydney spent most of the day in the balcony hanging on every word. Only her Band, French One, and American History classes did not attend: they were comprised of students other than seniors. Henry and Tom Link ran through Senior Hall just as the bell rang signaling the passing period between zero and first hours, Henry dressed in an entirely purple ensemble while Tom donned green. Sydney nearly regurgitated her Coke in surprise, and was about to question Anne, but realized that she already sat in the auditorium. Her friend finally clued Sydney in to the two males' new clothing habits during lunch sixth hour: the Government students' only break. Anne explained that Tom and Henry had apparently taken a trip to the Salvation Army store and bought the ugliest matching clothing they could find. Neither of the girls could stop laughing for five straight minutes.

**

* * *

**

_Day 31_

Sydney lost focus again for another two weeks until the ACTs and PSAEs (Prairie State Achievement Exams). A dreaded two half-days for juniors, they felt like heaven to the seniors, who reveled in the misfortune of the 'yungins.' The agents had no idea _how_ Jack and the C.I.A. managed to get them out of the tests mandatory for graduation — both Florida and California took the SATs while France offered neither, and only residents of Illinois took the PSAEs — but all three were willing to pray in the direction of the senior Bristow's house for excusing them. Seniors only had to attend the first day of testing; the second, they were free from waking up early for class. During their lunch outing after the first day (Matt Herbert's mother offered to cook fourteen of them a smorgasbord lunch), Sydney excused herself to take a phone call from her father.

"Dad, I'm kind of busy right now," She gritted, the open window next to her and the slight breeze making her wary. "Don't you think it's a little suspicious if I step out for a call when the people who are most likely to call me are in the same room?"

"Say I'm your father calling from Paris to check up on your money situation," He said, brushing off her concern as if it were of no importance. "Have you heard anything about Sark or the _Negro/Azuls_? Has Vaughn said anything to you about structure changes or implications from superiors?"

"You just saw all three of us two hours ago," She stated in exasperation, still peeved, "and you couldn't have asked us then?"

At first, only frustrated silence met her ear, and then he ground out, "Talk now, pout later. Have you heard any rumblings that might suggest anything?"

Rolling her eyes and glancing again at the cracked window, through which flowed jovial laughter and delectable smells, she ducked her head and admitted, "Nothing. I don't know about Vaughn, but I've found nothing so far. He supposedly had a meeting in Chicago last night, but we haven't had a chance to talk privately yet. We'll call you again as soon as we get home."

"You'll do better than that." She could practically hear the cogs in his brain spin. "Tomorrow, you three _will_ attend school. Park in the church parking lot across the street from Lincoln and come in through Entrance C: there are no cameras there. Walk down the hallway past the fieldhouse to the corridor before Entrance E. Walk down the stairs to the math wing, and then use the stairs at the other end—"

"—To avoid the camera," She finished, feeling somewhat insulted. "I know where the cameras are and how to avoid them, Dad, but I don't understand why we need to."

"Sark knows you're here. If you show up on tape on a day that you're not supposed to be here...Well, let's just say that it's trouble that we don't need right about now."

A cheer rose up from inside the tiny house (she had no idea how Matt fit in there, let alone with the rest of his family) signaling the arrival of lunch. "Alright, we'll be there," She sighed. _'As if there were any other option.'_ "But it better be worth waking up early for."

**

* * *

**

_Day 32_

"Whoa. You look a whole lot scarier at seven in the morning, Jack."

"I would just like to say that Agent Weiss does not speak for—"

"Sit _down_, Agent Vaughn. Agent Weiss, shut the door before someone sees you." Sydney almost felt sorry for her father as he tried to wrangle all five agents near the crack of dawn. Once everyone settled into a seat, Jack folded his hands on his tall desk and glared at them gravely. "The C.I.A. has been monitoring both of Sark's compounds, and there has been little to no movement from either. Echelon has intercepted nothing over the wires. We have no leads. Right now, we are stagnant. Do we have _anything_ new to report?"

Everyone's eyes shifted immediately to Vaughn, and he fidgeted minutely. "Well, no one really said anything at the meet on Tuesday," He began, and Sydney swore she heard a groan from her father. _"But,"_ He added hastily, "I haven't been demoted yet, or even followed. If they suspected me in the least, I would have known about it immediately. Hell, I might not even be here."

"Which means Sark hasn't told the _Negro/Azuls_ yet," Dixon interpreted with a nod. "Maybe he's keeping the information to himself, sending a different faction to take us out."

"Maybe," Jack agreed.

"Sark doesn't know our endgame," Syd offered, leaning forward in her chair. "Maybe he thinks we already pulled out of Glenfield."

"Or maybe he pulled out himself," Marshall said. His proud smile disappeared as silence filled the room. "What? It was just a suggestion."

"Obviously no one knows Sark's agenda," Jack summed up, sitting back and sighing heavily. "So all we can do is, wait for a sign."

**

* * *

**

_Day 36_

Sydney only had two AP tests.

_Two._

One of them was the English Literature and Composition test!

And she felt like the entire world would come crashing down on her head if she even thought about closing a book.

Being a grad of both college _and_ graduate school, she thought she should be able to deal with two measly tests that, in _her_ case, eventually meant nothing. She did not need the college credit, and she definitely did not need the stress. But Jane Porter did, and therefore so did Sydney, in order to maintain her cover.

Everyone began panicking about the feared advanced placement tests, and mass studying broke out all over Senior Hall, dispelling near-fatal cases of Senioritis. Juniors and seniors alike clumped together around Physics and Chemistry books. Tyce Raji, the student who dealt Lara's study drugs, delivered lectures on Calculus shortcuts in the library's classroom while Anne answered even the most obscure questions about both English and Government. Even though the school did not offer AP American Government, the administration gave certain qualified and interested students the opportunity to take the test. As Anne's sights were fixed on Georgetown, she positively leapt at the chance. Other study groups blossomed in the library as well, prompting the librarians to tear their hair out with fury: they had to remind more students than normal to use their 'inside voices.'

But this panic began a little late: the day of the first advanced placement test. _'Better late than never, I guess,'_ Sydney thought wryly as she poured over a list of calculator programs available from various students. The stress began to get to her, even though it was only supposed to be 'pretend' studying. Her competitive nature kicked in, and she _wanted_ to do well on the tests, so she lost sleep reviewing solubility rules and the properties of metalloids versus alloys. She even second-guessed her English literature knowledge, speed-reading through the Cliff's Notes for _Wuthering Heights, Hamlet, King Lear, Frankenstein,_ and _The Canterbury Tales_. Vaughn usually aided her with the utmost patience, drilling her with flashcards and true or false quiz sheets, but he drew the line at acting out various scenes from _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ complete with tights for Puck and Oberon.

"Sydney, you know I love you with my whole heart, and I would do almost anything for you," He assured while backing out the front door. "Except that."

For a time, Sydney placed the problem of Sark on the back burner in favor of worrying about school, a tradeoff she made more than once during her college days. But, unfortunately for her conscience, her AP tests finished within the first three days of the two-week testing period. With Anne taking four AP exams (English, Calculus BC, Government, and Chemistry), and the rest of her friends taking a minimum of two, Sydney racked up quite a few hours during which she could twiddle her thumbs and contemplate Sark and the _Negro/Azuls_.

He had been quiet. Too quiet. Nauseously quiet. Almost a month and a half of inactivity began to lull Sydney into an admittedly false sense of security.

'_Maybe Marshall was right,'_ She thought with a sense of unease. _'Maybe Sark really did abandon this project.'_

**

* * *

**

_Day 47_

"So I was thinking the four of us could pull an all-nighter, and as soon as we get back from Gameworks, we go to IHOP for breakfast, then back to my house to sleep for a few hours. Go home, shower, change, then go to Motz's house for a bonfire lunch. If you want to come, a couple of us are gonna buy some provisions at Aldi's first. After that, we're going to Greg's house to watch movies. His parents said they'd stay over at a friend's for the night, so we're free for as long as the movies hold out. Sunday...I don't know. I think a lot of people might have homework to do or whatever, so I'm thinkin' the zoo. It's cheap, it's easy, and if people need to leave early, they can just catch the train. I know we're going to the Children's Museum on Senior Ditch Day, but I'm still not sure if _I'm_ going."

"Why?"

"Almost all of my classes are offering extra credit if we come that day! How can I pass that up?"

Sydney shook her head in amazement as she finished up an assignment she just received in American History. Her bag lunch sat neglected next to her massive book. "You have high A's in almost all of your classes. I think you can afford to do without the extra credit."

Anne sat back in her chair and chugged from an indestructible Nalgene bottle, the newest craze at the high school. A smug, self-satisfied smile spread across her face as she posed with the bottle. "I wanna be able to practically sleep through finals and still keep my A's. If that means skipping Senior Ditch Day, then so be it."

"Whatever..." Sydney replied flippantly, snapping her book closed and filing away her homework. She check her watch against the digital clock on the wall by the lunch lines on the other side of Commons. 12:02. Good. She could still eat her sandwich if she hurried.

"You're gonna do the same thing, aren't you?" Anne abruptly prophesied. Sydney gave her a look and continued to unpack her lunch. "Jane, don't gimme that crap. You're not gonna ditch. You _can't_ ditch; it's totally not you."

The agent frowned playfully. "Yeah, yeah, I know. 'You've got a little something on your—'"

Gunshots, shouting, and rapid Russian-tinged Spanish cut through the usual lunchtime din. Both Sydney and Anne sat up straighter as about ten men clad entirely in black and toting automatics and AK-47's entered at a jog with their weapons raised. One pair marched directly to the fire doors, another to the bookstore by Entrance H, and two others dispersed themselves throughout a thoroughly confused and scared student body. The last man strode confidently to the centre of Commons, directly into Sydney's line of vision, and buried three shots in the ceiling for silence. "Hello," He quipped behind a wool mask. "We're here to take over your school. And everyone is going to cooperate."

Sydney's face blanched as she saw the mercenaries begin searching the students for, presumably, her or her fellow agents. Her thoughts immediately poured out her mouth.

"They're here."

_**TBC . . .**_


	30. Zenith

**I won't even waste your time...**

**This Chapter:** Lots of guns, bullets, fighting, and unexpectedness

**Chapter Genre:** We've got a little bit of everything, here.

**Suggested Soundtrack:** Heavy metal, people, this calls for heavy metal. Try "Blanket of Fear" by Papa Roach, "Remedy" or "Sold Me" by Seether, "Bound to Violence" by Hatebreed, "B.Y.O.B." by System of a Down, "Duality" by Slipknot, and "Dope Show" by Marilyn Manson. Or either _Alias_ soundtrack. They're pretty tricked out. Try "Inferno" off S2 for the end.

**Author's Note:** Killed a pen. Killed a notebook. Might've killed a few characters. This chapter drained (and frustrated) me like no other. Everything in this one has been double and triple checked for accuracy, continuity, and what I wanted to say. (You should see the original manuscript: it's quite funny.) Hope it comes out right. Enjoy!

**

* * *

**

**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Thirty: Zenith**

"Who's here?" Despite her panicked, shifting eyes, Anne's voice kept an even keel, belaying confusion and fear.

Sydney fought a quick internal battle. How much should she tell Anne in order to save her life? Telling her that internationally-wanted terrorists were trying to take over her school in the form of large men with guns would probably spark more than one question, and right now, Sydney could not take the time to answer much more than one. But could Sydney afford to be Jane at the moment? Bookish Jane would do exactly as Sark's men wanted and cower in a corner. She would not take the time to scout escape options or contingency plans. Could Sydney (or the school) afford that?

No.

She needed to be Sydney at the moment. She needed an escape route, ammo, and weapons. She needed to be a spy.

She needed her fellow agents. But they were scattered all over the school during sixth hour: Vaughn in American History on the far west side of the building; Weiss in AP Calculus in the math wing on the northeast side; Jack on the second floor; and Marshall and Dixon could be anywhere. She had to assume Sark and his men had already taken over the Principal's and Assistant Principal's offices down by Entrance A, so meeting Vaughn was out of the question. The first thing Sark would have done, was round up all the security guards and their potentially damaging walkie talkies, so the option of Dixon was gone, too. Somehow, she had to escape Commons and round up Weiss before finding their way to Jack's classroom.

'_Okay, assumptions,'_ She thought quickly. _'Because this is where the most students are, he probably sent his men here last. That means he'll have men well-established all over the school. That could complicate things a little. But if I go out the back entrance, down the hallway by the Home Ec rooms, and then rejoin the hallway from Commons, I could avoid the guards outside the cafeteria. But I'd have to move quickly: there's still that little stretch by Entrance B hallway and the vending machines that's visible. There might be guards there...Oh well. I'll deal with that. I just need to get Weiss and get up to my father's room._

'_Weapons! We have no weapons! If I could find some rope or something sharp...But I can't really make anything; my number one priority at the moment is to get out of here with minimal noise and disturbance.'_

A sharp scream jolted her back to reality, and her eyes snapped immediately to the source. One of the men singled out a young freshman in a flowery sun dress on the opposite side of Commons. Her long brown hair and lanky legs sent Sydney's alarms blaring. He dragged the girl over to the man in charge for inspection, and the agent's eyes widened. They _were_ looking for her. She needed to get out of there fast.

"Jane? What's going on? Do you know these guys?" Anne whispered, barely moving her lips. She watched as the head mercenary violently rejected the girl, throwing her against a pillar. Anne stared squarely at Sydney, pleading for the truth. "What are they looking for?"

'_Me!'_ She needed to get out of there, with or without tipping off Anne. Instead of revealing the truth, though, she watered it down to a consistency that she hoped Anne would swallow. "Look, I need to get out of here," Sydney whispered urgently, her head bent as she rifled through her purse and belongings for useful weapons. Anne scoffed, and Sydney modified, "We _all_ need to get out, but seriously, just listen. I think I have a plan, but that means I have to escape first. Can you cause a distraction while I slip out the back doors?"

Her friend's jaw dropped in utter disbelief. "Are you kidding, Jane?" She spat, also ducking away from the ever approaching men. "Watching cop shows is not the same as living them! You can't just duck out of here without getting killed like some fricking spy!"

"Anne, please," Sydney pleaded, her hand finally closing around her nail file. She gratefully extracted it and tucked it in her back pocket. Anne eyed this movement warily. "Don't ask questions. Just please...help me go..." Their eyes met for a tense moment before the teenager nodded.

"Okay. I'll see what I can do." She began discreetly searching the crowd near the bookstore guards. Her eyes alighted upon Ben East, and she perked up noticeably. Gathering her Nalgene bottle and purse, she bravely rose and began striding towards her band friend.

The men near the bookstore wove through tables and chairs, finally barring her path when she stood one table away from her destination. "Where are you going? We said not to move!"

Keeping an eye on Sydney, Anne shifted to position herself so that the guards' backs faced her escaping friend. "If y'all are gonna keep me against my will," She snitted, seamlessly falling into the roll of the snotty bitch with too much money and too many people indulging her, "I wanna at least, like, sit with my friends." She began to continue walking, but the mercenaries both jabbed their weapons under her nose. Anne merely scoffed, but she crossed her arms and remained motionless all the same.

When the teen only responded to their threat with a defiant glare, one of the masked men stepped forward and grabbed her chin, pulling her towards him. "Why aren't you sitting, bitch?"

Despite their overt display of force, she sneered and yanked her head away. "You said not to move. Make up your damn mind."

As the two mercs escorted her friend to the chair next to Ben East, Sydney hunched over and quickly stalked towards the half wall that shielded the back entrance from the rest of Commons. She traversed the open space within a moment and flattened herself against it, gasping for breath, more from shock as a result of Anne's impeccable actions. How the hell did she have the poise and presence of mind to pull that off? But she did not have the time to mull over such things; she spit on her hand, rubbed the bottom two hinges of the nearest door to guard against squeaking, and hastily let herself out, exhaling a deep breath of relief as the door closed right before four more men entered in through Entrance H.

Making her way through another set of fire doors and down a short flight of stairs, she found herself in the oldest part of the building: the Home Ec rooms. This wing, while devoid of cameras, also posed a threat: everything was open. Two parallel corridors intersected with the hallway from Commons, one right in front of her, and the other on the opposite end of the way. Two stairwells stretched up to the third floor without fire doors on any level, defying Chicago fire codes established over fifty years ago.

In other words, if she made a noise, _anyone_ could hear her.

She was suddenly glad Guter demanded they wear gym shoes today for a marching band practice for the Disney trip.

Peeking her head around the corner into the first connecting corridor, she spied two men clad in the same attire as the others in Commons. They paced with automatics at the ready. She debated quickly whether the situation merited a tuck and roll, decided against it, and hopped the span of the doorway. Not waiting to find out if they saw her, she sprinted towards the other connecting hallway, her shoes thankfully silent on the polished floor.

Passing the classroom in which she and Vaughn reconciled back on Homecoming night, Sydney stuttered another half flight before slamming to a halt. A good twenty feet of open tile stretched between her and the next opportunity for sanctuary. She peered around the corner, gauging the guards standing at the entrance to Commons. Each stared down a hallway, and she wracked her brain for a way to distract them both, just for a few moments. Every scenario she thought up was worse than its predecessor, and she was about to give up and just run for it when a sharp scream emanated from the cafeteria, garnering an investigation from both of them.

Sydney grabbed the opportunity. She bolted for the split in the hallway at full tilt, only to run into two more men, armed with semi-automatic pistols this time.

They did not immediately notice her, but as she was about to ambush the closer of the two, the other spun around and took aim. She side-kicked the guards into each other, sending them off-balance long enough for her to grab a trash can as a weapon. They recovered and lunged at her simultaneously. She swung the heavy plastic container in a wide arc. The first ducked, but the second did not see it coming. The can connected with his temple and sent him directly into one of the two brick pillars, hitting it with a hollow thud before sliding to the floor, unconscious. Her other attacker kicked her square in the middle of her back, forcing her down onto the receptacle's rounded top. She gasped as the wind rushed rapidly out of her lungs, but she instinctively lashed out with her foot, making solid contact with the flesh of the man's stomach. He doubled over in pain but did not relinquish his gun.

'_You're _kidding _me,'_ She thought in exasperation as he recovered quickly. He tried to strike her with the butt of his weapon, but she caught his wrist and twisted, his shoulder popping under the strain. Crying out in pain, his leg swept out and knocked her to the ground. She fell onto the incapacitated man's leg, and even though she felt his ankle crack, her lower back stung with the impact, and she remained motionless for a moment. But her eyes settled onto the other gun, and as her attacker lunged, she dodged out of the way, absorbing the gun in her roll.

He recovered quicker than she thought and kicked the gun out of her hand and under the vending machines, the clattering of metal on tile dangerously loud. She could not afford to make enough noise so as to alert the guards down the hall. _'Okay, enough screwing around,'_ She thought. _'Bring it on.'_ The man lunged once more, and she let him fall, tumbling with him towards a set of fire doors and the entrance to the math hall. Her hands found the cool metal of the weapon between their bodies and slowly twisted it towards his own. She saw the look of horror spread over his features as he realized what was happening. Her finger covered his on the trigger and squeezed, muffling the bullet's rapport with her own body. The life slowly drained out of his features as she pulled away, taking the weapon with her.

She rolled away, allowing herself a moment to recover and catch her breath, the gun still dangling from her fingertips. The foreign agent's blood splattered the stomach of her blue tank top, and the red substance began coloring the white tile as well. She needed to stash the men somewhere quickly. Her eyes immediately alighted upon the boys' bathroom not ten feet away. _'Perfect.'_

Opening up the trash can, she unhooked the bag in use and reached underneath to find an extra bag. She quickly dragged both guards into the bathroom with minimal trouble and bound their hands to the pipes of the farthest sink with the extra garbage bag. She relieved both of them of anything she thought might be of value: guns, extra clips, a switchblade, and a walkie talkie which crackled and issued commands in Russian from time to time. Stashing the extra rounds and switchblade in her back pockets and clipping the walkie onto a belt loop, she gripped a gun in each hand and exited the bathroom.

The security camera gaped openly at her as she slowly closed the door. She stared at it for a moment but hastily decided there was nothing she could do about it now and continued into the math wing.

Flying down the ramp, she skidded down the hallway and around the corner of the second intersection, halting immediately outside the first door on her left. But the window was dark; no light illuminated the edges of the entrance, either. _'This makes no sense. He has to be in there. His class has to be in there; the bell hasn't rung.'_ But a quick glance at the clock contradicted her instincts. 12:27. Everyone should have been in seventh hour, but she never saw so much as a student's head in the hallway. _'What the_ hell_ is going on!'_

Sticking with her intuition, she tried the door handle anyway and found it locked. After examination, she discovered the lock to be a simple deadbolt. She whipped out the nail file from her back pocket and easily picked the lock. Tugging open the door proved to be a slight struggle, though; as she pulled open the wood, she ripped duct tape from around the doorframe. Lights still illuminated the classroom and revealed about twenty senior students cowering in the farthest corner behind the teacher Mr. Borkowski and his desk.

Weiss immediately stood up, extricating himself from multiple students she recognized. "Jane!"

She shook her head shortly and sighed. "Drop the cover. They're here."

His eyes widened, and he hopped over a desk to reach his backpack. "How many? What weapons? And where's Vaughn?"

"No idea on all accounts," She said, barely conscious of the utterly terrified students in the background. "There were about ten when I left Commons. Found two at the end of Entrance B hallway; one's dead and the other's unconscious. I tied them up in the bathroom, but a camera saw me."

"They were bound to at one point. Just sucks that it's so early." He slammed his backpack down in disgust. "Nothing. I left everything at home today. Damn it!" Weiss finally took in Sydney's form, including the large blood stain on her shirt. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Never mind; we don't have time." She tossed one of her guns to her fellow agent, inducing a few screeches from the girls. He caught it deftly, followed by an extra clip and the switchblade. "We need to get to my father and Vaughn. I have no idea where Marshall and Dixon are, if they're even here today."

"Gotcha. Let's roll."

Suddenly, Mr. Borkowski rose with an air of defiance. "Stone, Miss Porter, I demand to know what is going on. You cannot leave until you explain yourselves."

Sydney's eyes roved over the scared pack of students, resting on those she knew. John Motz. Tom Link. Jamie Mathers. Summer Assaf. All glared back at her with fear marred by confusion and betrayal. Steeling herself against any adverse emotions, she decided to hit them with the truth. Any other option was too costly. "Mister Borkowski," She started through clenched teeth, "if you do not let us through, not only do you condemn this school, but you earn yourself jail time for impeding a federal agent. What we're doing is in your best interests." His internal battle evident, he sat back down with a frustrated sigh.

Weiss leapt over desks to meet Sydney at the doorway. He glanced once more at his classmates. "Stay right here," He advised gravely, his seriousness startling the students. "Trust only Michael Tibot, Mister Tull, the black security guard, or Mister Flinkman. No one else. And don't do anything stupid, like try to be a hero. Just stay here, and you'll be safe. We'll save you."

'_God, I hope all that's true.'_

As they exited the room, Motz locked the door and refastened the duct tape.

"Well, that was easy," Weiss quipped, tucking the extra ammo and switchblade into the pockets of his cargo shorts. "Taking down a terrorist organization with our bare hands should be a synch."

She threw a Look as they both peered around the corner, checking for guards. "What's with the terrorist-grade garlic?"

"The blackout paper and duct tape?" He clarified, quietly leading the way up the stairs to the second floor. "Standard level three lockdown procedure." She questioned him with a glance as they both peered down Senior Hall, noting the multiple security guards in front of the library in the opposite direction. "Syd, this school has lockdown procedures. What with the gangs in the neighborhood, someone's bound to bring a gun onto campus. Then they go into level one lockdown: they close off the campus and don't let anyone in or out until they isolate the problem. Level two is when someone gets in the school who's not supposed to be there. Anne said someone did it her sophomore year. They close the campus and send security guards from room to room looking for the guy. Level three they just added after September eleventh. It's supposed to be in case terrorists attack the school."

"Fitting," Sydney assessed as they waited for the guards to turn the other way.

"They close the campus, but everyone's supposed to stay where they are. No bells ring, no one leaves classrooms. The principal, Highland, sends out an email with instructions — assuming the network's still up — or goes over the P.A. system. When he gives the word, teachers are either supposed to start evacuating to the outside or to the first floor like a tornado drill."

"So what happened?"

"Highland must have gotten an email out, but since there's been no announcement, everyone's still in their classrooms."

Finally, all the security guards looked in the opposite direction, and the two agents shot from the stairwell down the hall towards Jack's classroom, hoping the security camera monitoring the Senior Hall bathrooms did not face them. They pulled open the heavy door with a whoosh and quickly entered.

The contents of every cabinet lay on the lab tables and counters, doors still hanging open at odd angles. Chemicals and test tubes mingled with Kevlar vests and gas masks. Wireless comm headsets occupied an entire table while a concoction of ordinary objects littered the adjacent counter — Marshall devices for emergency purposes. The safety shower's false back leaned against the fume hood, revealing multiple full length HazMat suits.

Jack Bristow sat at the head of the chaos typing away on a laptop with multiple windows opened. Each displayed a different view of the school, obviously obtained through a hacked video feed, but even as they stood there, one of the windows flickered and died into an eerie static. "Damn it," He cursed, slamming a fist down onto the counter top.

"So this is what you do during your planning periods," Weiss joked dryly. Sydney glared at him as a reprimand for his inappropriately-timed jest.

Jack's head swiveled to the other agents, and his features softened almost imperceptibly. He received them as gratefully as his character allowed. "How did you get in here?"

Weiss disappeared into the secret compartment of the safety shower as Sydney circled around to face her father. "That's not important. Dad, what are we dealing with, here? How are we going to stop them with no gear whatsoever?"

He pointedly ignored her questions and asked instead, "Where is Agent Vaughn?"

She bit her lip as all the suppressed emotions bubbled up to the surface in the form of hot tears and a lump in her throat. "I don't know, Dad," She replied, struggling to keep her voice from cracking. "He's in American History right now, but you _know_ he wouldn't stay there if he knew we were in danger." _'That's what I love about him.'_

A look passed over his eyes, and he suddenly abandoned the laptop, cupping her shoulder in the only intimate gesture he could muster. But then Weiss reentered the room, and Jack relinquished his grip, maintaining a professional distance.

"So what's the plan, Jack?" Weiss asked, leaning against the high desk with his hands folded.

Flipping around the laptop, he allowed the agents to evaluate his work thus far. "Sark's team has fully infiltrated the school, as you can clearly see. I've been trying to contact the Chicago agents, but there seems to be an electronics scrambler operating somewhere on the campus. It's interfering with the phone systems and certain levels of video frequency. Comms are out of the question. I've been attempting to encrypt a message posing as SPAM, but whatever Sark has isn't letting anything get into or out of the school."

"Where's Marshall?" Sydney queried, remembering her speculation in Commons. "Is he at home? Can we somehow get a message to him?"

"Unfortunately no." Jack pressed a few keys, and a grainy camera feed from a third floor classroom monopolized the screen. Marshall jumped at the doorframe, attempting to secure duct tape around it. "He's filling in for Mrs. Tylk in English on the third floor." He closed out the window and pulled up a picture outside of the school: one of the cameras mounted on the east side of the building above Entrance F. Snipers dotted the roof like sparse confetti. "He's actually in a great position."

The other agents furrowed their brows in confusion. "He's alone without any weapons on the highest floor." Weiss dryly pointed out. "How is that 'great'?"

"There's a ladder to the roof hidden in the tech box in the auditorium. They use it when adjusting the stage lights," Jack explained with tense patience. "Now stop asking questions. Let me lay out the plan first." He extracted a map from a drawer and began drawing on it. "As you may have suspected, Sark took all the security guards into custody. He rounded them up, and they are now being held in the athletic locker room." Pointing to a room on the west side of the building in the new addition across from the fieldhouse, he glanced up at Sydney. "You're going to get him out. There should be four or five guards in the room, so you'll need weapons."

"And you don't have any," Weiss tacked on, interpreting his tone perfectly. "That's impossible. Even though she's, like, _the_ best, spy ever, no one can do that unarmed."

"Hence the reason for a detour to Agent Malone's room." Jack shot a death glare at the other male agent. "Malone has a stash of weapons hidden in the closet for just such emergencies. Before each of you begin your tasks, you'll need to stop there first."

"Both of us?" Sydney repeated in confusion. "Is Weiss going with me?"

"No." Her father left the desk and strode towards the conglomerate of technology on the counter. "Our main objective is getting these kids out of the school unharmed while securing Sark's men. Weiss will join Marshall on the third floor and serve as the muscle." Despite the dire situation, Weiss smiled proudly at himself. "You'll take out the snipers on the roof.

"Once up there," Jack continued, anticipating Weiss's question, "you will proceed over the centre of the building towards Entrance C and the greenhouses. There is a ladder built into the bricks. It's the lowest part of the building. Lead the children down there and towards the church across Wood Street by the football stadium. They should be safe there. An agent is in place."

"It's a safe house?" Sydney asked, astonished that a safe haven could be so close to the school without her knowledge.

Her father shook her head. "Just an old retired contact of mine."

"Oh." She knew better than to question old contacts of Jack Bristow's. "After I rescue Dixon, then what? Do we find Vaughn?"

"Send Dixon up to the third floor to aid Marshall and Agent Weiss, then proceed to the last known location of Agent Vaughn. Your main objective is to free the school."

Such high, lofty, non-specific language did not flow form her father's mouth often. It usually meant that he had no idea how to accomplish his goal and would therefore leave the specifics up to his field agents. A plan began to form in the back of her mind while in the front stood a single word. "Sark?" After what he had done to the world, her country, Glenfield, the innocent teenagers, _her friends,_ she wanted retribution. She wanted his head. With any luck, the young Brit would be on the premises supervising his gangster minions. This could be their chance to corner and capture him once and for all.

The glimmer of hope in Jack's eyes implied that he shared her sentiments, but — "I have no idea if he's here. He hasn't shown up on any of the camera feeds so far. But then again, they control the feeds..." He trailed off in aggravated silence as he glared at his laptop. "They must know there's a bug in their system, because every time they're about to execute something, the nearest camera goes dead only to show an empty hallway once it comes back on-line. Looping the feeds would be too time-consuming, and they have no motive to be stealthy; it's genius." Lost in thought for a moment, only Sydney's hand on his own brought him back to reality. "I'll stay here and continue attempted communications with the Chicago office. That's first on our agenda. Then I'll work on the camera feeds. If he can shut them off for periods of time, then so can I."

Sydney and Weiss took up their weapons and were almost out the door before she stopped for a moment. Eyeing a familiar lipstick applicator on the counter, she suggested, "You said _certain_ levels of video frequency, right? Well, what about _these?"_ She picked up the lipstick as well as a sheet of the cam-cams, or camouflage cameras, that she used in Tressaut's room. "These operate with a high frequency, because they don't have to reach that far. If the phones and all _low_ frequencies are blocked, wouldn't this signal still come in loud and clear?"

While Weiss's face contorted as if she turned into Marshall before his eyes, Jack snatched up the rest of the covert devices. "Correct. Take four of the lipstick cameras and two sheets of cam-cams. The lipsticks contain four projectile cameras each, and there are twenty-five cam-cams per sheet. Here. You better take these, too." He thrust upon them two black saddle bags. "Collect anything you find on them that could be useful: guns, knives, communication devices—"

Suddenly, the two-way radio on Sydney's hip began crackling with static. She unclipped it and handed the small object over to her father. "Here. You might find this useful. I took it off one of the guards in Entrance B hallway."

He asked no more questions about the acquisition. Instead, he handed Sydney an extra bag and set of cameras. "For Agent Vaughn." His hand lingered on hers for a moment before he wished, "Good luck. Both of you."

They exited the room just the way they entered it: with Jack typing away on his laptop.

"Okay, we need a plan," Weiss whispered. They huddled in the recessed doorway of Mrs. Parks's room. "We got guys in the LRC hallway, a camera in the L-bend of Senior Hall, a camera by the stairwell closest to Entrance E—"

"We could take the way we came," Sydney thought out loud, visualizing the path as she spoke, "but the stairway to Senior Hall deposits us right by the camera. And we can't risk another foray through the hallway into Commons. That leaves us with—"

"Vargas's room isn't far down the LRC hallway." Her fellow agent interjected, pumped with adrenaline. "Her room's connected to Maynard-Howle's Human Anatomy classroom which has a door into the faculty bathroom which can go into Ms. Beckett's room. That spits us out into the hallway that leads to Freshman Hall and Tressaut's room."

She stared at him for a moment. "Or we can hurry down the LRC hallway."

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. We'll do it the simple way."

Peering down the corridor to the LRC, she gauged the guards. If they flattened up against the right hand wall, they should be safe and out of sight. Sydney grabbed his arm and rushed into the similarly recessed doorway of Vargas's Physics classroom. They smoothed themselves against the cool white wall and inched their way slowly down, making sure to avoid recent pop spills to keep their shoes from squeaking. When they approached the corner, each heaved a sigh of relief at the sight of a path devoid of people. Rushing down towards the band room, she slammed them to a halt before they emerged into the juncture of Freshman and Senior Halls. She heard movement.

A quick glance either way confirmed her suspicions: one guard paced before the windows at the end of Freshman Hall to her left while yet another patrolled in front of the bathrooms in Senior Hall to her right. The latter did not concern her; however, there was no possible way to reach Tressaut's room without garnering the attention of the former. But his route was long: he disappeared for a good amount of time, presumably to check the stairwell by the special ed department.

'_This is good.'_ As soon as the man disappeared again, they darted towards C-3 and room 220. They slipped through two sets of fire doors and crashed into the room.

Twenty-three confused students stared back at them.

Tressaut rose and unhooked a set of keys from a belt loop. "About time some of you showed up," He complained, striding quickly down the main aisle towards the closet doors. Heads swiveled to follow him, hoping to gleam some clue as to what was going on. It must have been a freshman Global Studies class: she saw Dani Allen sitting along the chalkboard. "I had no idea if I had to do this thing alone." He unlocked the closet and began rearranging boxes...And walls.

"Well, when you've got an entire terrorist organization out to kill you," Weiss snapped, "it kinda slows things down a bit."

The freshmen began chattering excitedly at the mention of some adventure, but the teacher silenced them with a hand clap. "Alright ladies and gents. What I'm going to ask might be a little much, but I want you to try." Like true naïve children, their eyes brightened. "I want everyone to go ahead and get up, move their chairs to the back corner, and sit down. But above all, stay quiet and calm. Go ahead."

Perhaps to soften the shock to the students, Tressaut began exhibiting his wares as they moved. On Sydney's English table, her teacher displayed suitcases and briefcases stacked with an assortment of handguns and semi-automatics featuring every amenity possible. "Now that automatics are back on the market in Illinois," He said, slightly muffled behind a box of Uzis and AK-47's, "these are legal. But I bet you'll prefer these." He opened three briefcases with a thumb print and voice activator. "Berettas are here, Glocks are there, and Smith and Wessons are in that one. I've also got knives, throwing stars, neurotoxins, chloroform, a few disguises...Name it, and I'll look for it."

While Weiss began loading up on everything from a Smith and Wesson and extra clips to a grenade disguised as a ball of paper, Sydney paused with a hand on her favourite Beretta M-9. "Aren't you coming with us?"

Tressaut sighed, crossing his arms and glancing over his shoulder at his bewildered students. "They need me here." Ignoring the astounded looks from the agents, he continued, "I'm in charge of them, and they need me here to protect them. Right now, they're my mission. You guys can take care of Sark."

"But," Weiss protested, his quest for weapons finally impeded, "won't you be fired from the school after this, no matter what happens?"

After a moment of consideration, he answered honestly, "Probably. But these are innocent civilian children. I can't think of someone who warrants more protection."

Sydney nodded, understanding completely. She could not lose sight of the one thing bigger than Sark's capture: the safety of every single student in the building. It was their job to ensure injuries only resulted for those who deserved them. But while she and Weiss and (presumably) Vaughn wanted to guards students like Anne, the task fell to teachers like Tressaut to placate them and allay their fears. _'Now if only all of them were double agents for the CIA. Then we would be gold.'_

She filled her own bag with stars, daggers, rope, extra clips, and a bag of marbles, shying away from the more destructive objects like grenades. She packed Vaughn's bag as well, grabbing a Glock 17, his favourite knives (with a gel grip), and even a lock-picking set in case they ever separated. A laser caught her eye, and she tossed it to her fellow agent. "Just in case," She murmured. "You never know: you just might need to pull a Bugs Bunny and make your own tunnel out."

"What about you?" He countered, sticking an extra clip into his back pocket before shouldering his bag. "Won't you need it for locks and stuff?"

Shrugging, she replied, "I've got my trusty nail file; I'll be fine." Glancing once more in her bag, she nodded in satisfaction and slung the strap over her shoulder.

"Oh, before you two leave..." Both of them turned to face their double agent ally. "Don't lead them up here. The _Negro/Azuls_ don't suspect me, but I don't need the added stress, okay?" Sydney smiled and nodded her consent. "Good luck. And try not to blow up the school."

"Making no promises," Weiss said as the pair exited. Both of them stood in C-3, the room where they at lunch during band camp. That time — filled with fashion faux pas, clumsy slang, and surprisingly dead-on gawkiness — seemed years ago. Now they stood with bags full of weapons getting ready to kill anyone who stood in their way. "Guess this is it, Porter." He offered a half grin. "Don't torture 'em too long before you kill 'em."

"I won't if you won't bore them to death with your stupid jokes," She shot back, façade echoing his.

Mellowing for a moment, he queried, "How was Anne? Did she...say anything? About anything?"

Sydney knew what he meant: was she still alive? Not willing to admit the worst case scenario, she smiled brightly. "She's such a great actress. And so brave. You should've seen her stand up to this guy—"

"Really?" The hope in his voice both heartened and scared her.

The smile grew. "Really."

As the mission mood began settling around them again, they began gravitating to opposite doors: Weiss towards Freshman Hall, and Sydney to the back staircase to the band room. But before either of them disappeared, Weiss called out, "Hey Syd!" She peered at him in response. "I know you're worried about Vaughn, but you shouldn't. You'll find him."

They went their separate ways, and she barreled silently down the back band staircase, the air filled with electricity.

The copier room entrance nestled into the cinderblock, slightly obstructing the view both into and out of the alcove. Sydney, cursing the outward-opening door, could only peek out one side towards the Entrance A hallway. Another replica of the men occupying Commons stood there looking slightly bored. She pulled out a single marble and rolled it around in her hand, trying to decided whether to hit him or just send him scurrying after it. But then she felt a small bump on the smooth glass, and upon further inspection, she determined the marbles released incapacitating gas. This third option presented a more secure outcome, so she pressed the button and rolled it towards the man.

It stopped a little bit closer than she would have liked, but the mercenary still investigated. But when he stooped to pick it up, the marble did not emit gas; instead, an unidentifiable pulse rocked the hallway, and the guard stood there, paralyzed with the device still in his grip. Even as she sprinted away from the man towards Entrance C hallway with a camera secured to the copier door, unsure how long the effects lasted of if anyone else felt the pulse, she grinned at the ingenuity.

'_Guess Marshall found another place to put his paralyzing ray besides those goggles.'_

When she reached the juncture with Entrance C hallway, she already had another marble in her hand ready to roll towards Entrance C. The inner debate had not lasted long: though she needed to conserve the precious objects, if Marshall, Dixon, and Weiss were going to evacuate the students by Entrance C, they needed that area free of guards. Not even disposing of the body, she shot down the corridor parallel to the fieldhouse and in the direction of Entrance E. She bypassed the boys' athletic locker room — if Lara were also involved, she would have keys to the girls' athletic locker room as a result of her involvement in softball.

Her instincts right, she slammed the unlocked door open and gasped in surprise.

Vaughn stood in the middle of the locker room fighting off five armed mercenaries all while trying to hold up his drooping pants. Instead of asking questions, she fell into the fray, immediately taking on two attackers at once. After dropping a guy with a roundhouse kick to the temple, Vaughn spun around to face her, and they locked gazes for a moment. Each conveyed mostly relief and gratitude with a hint of _'Thank _God _you're here!'_ They began moving together as a team, their deadliest combination. She would punch a target in the nose so he could execute a sweep kick and send him to the ground. All of the guards fell quickly, and for the first time, Sydney noticed the gaggle of bound security guards tied up in the locker room's office.

She threw both saddle bags at her boyfriend, extracting only a knife. "Take some rope and tie up your pants, boy," She called, easily snapping the bonds on everyone.

He grunted in appreciation and cut himself a length of rope to tie through his belt loops.

When she came to Dixon, she allowed herself a hug with her old partner. "Thank God you're alright," She murmured into his ear.

His patented half smile actually lit up his entire face. "Like you thought any different." She grinned out of nervous relief, but he became serious again. "What's my assignment? I assume we don't have any comms."

"You're right." She glanced at the recovering security guards as Vaughn entered, wondering whether or not they should be privy to the plan. _'They're trained professionals, most of them ex-police,'_ She reasoned with herself. _'They're more valuable with us than at the church.'_ But they deserved a choice in the matter: they were not CIA, and therefore had no obligation to aid in this fight.

But before Sydney could utter a word, one of the female guards shook her head. "We might not be — whatever you are, but we have a duty to protect this school. Whatever's going down...We're in too."

Sydney and Vaughn shared a knowing smile before he prompted, "Okay, what's the plan?"

She reclaimed her satchel and tucked her gun into the waistband of her pants. "Dixon, go up to the third floor and help with evacuations to the roof. Weiss will fill you in on the details. Vaughn, we're supposed to...take back the school." He stared at her expectantly. "Yeah, I know: we need a better plan. Since my father's doing everything he can to contact the Chicago office for actual tactical reinforcement, I was thinking—"

"We stall?" Vaughn finished for her.

She nodded. "We try to get as many kids out of the school as we can before the CIA shows up and we have to start kicking ass. Now—"

"—We obviously can't funnel everyone up to the third floor." Vaughn thought best while holding his chin with his arms crossed. He practically groped himself. "So what's the closest way out that can support a lot of movement without a lot of noise?"

The idea immediately popped into Sydney's head. "The fieldhouse. If we free the fieldhouse, we can sneak everyone out through the doors along the back wall and just lead them around the side of the building, and the ridge of the track and field practice area will—"

"—Hide them from anyone watching in Lincoln. That's pretty good." Vaughn grinned proudly. "You've learned well, young grasshopper."

"What do you want us to do?" The same woman from before spoke for the entire group of security guards.

All three agents glanced at once another, and Dixon answered, "When these two come to you with students, just send them down towards the greenhouses."

"You have weapons?" Vaughn asked.

They all shared the same uncertain façade. "You mean pieces?" A Hispanic male clarified and then shook his head. "We do, but they're fake. Don't worry, though; we deal with this type of people every day. We can handle them."

Their sheer determination won Sydney over. "All right. Just stay here for now. We'll get you when we're ready."

The three agents snuck into the hallway again for a brief conversation. "Do you have any idea how we're going to do this?" Dixon inquired.

"Absolutely none," Sydney responded, glancing nervously at the fieldhouse doors. How many of Sark's men stood watch over the gym classes in there? Would the three of them be enough to take on much more than nine? "Hey, is your gun real, Dixon?"

"Are you kidding?" He popped out the clip to show off the brand new bullets and then slammed it back in. "I never go anywhere without it. Never know when someone might get out of hand. Or a terrorist wants to take over the school." He offered a wink before turning resolutely to their next objective. "Well, shall we get started?"

Vaughn found his Glock in the satchel. "No time like the present."

By being able to see clear across the fieldhouse, Sydney safely assumed only one P.E. class inhabited the gym — therefore, less guards needed. She signaled Vaughn over to the left set of doors while she stood by the right with Dixon in view of both agents. Upon his signal, Vaughn and Sydney stormed the space with their weapons drawn.

The students and their teacher sat in the centre of the rubber cement floor, kept in place by five men clad in black. Vaughn's first shot into the halogen lights above them sent jagged shards of glass showering down onto the small congregation. It distracted the men enough so that all three could approach them without drawing fire.

The students screamed as she careened towards the nearest guard, disarming him with a simple downwards kick to the wrist. The gun flopped on the dead ground, and when she tried to skid out of the way of a kick to the gut, not only did she fail but the weapon tangled her feet, and she fell flat on her back with a dull thump. Momentarily without breath, she began to panic when the man roughly placed his foot over her neck, effectively crushing her windpipe. He slowly suffocated her even though she fought desperately to dislodge his shoe.

Even among the grunts and screaming and blows, she heard it; the sound of bone and ligament and tendon and nerve snapping was unforgettable. As her attacker crumpled to the ground, lifeless, Vaughn emerged in his place and offered her a hand.

She returned to her feet and surveyed her surroundings. Three of the five either lay lifeless or unconscious, but Dixon still fought with two of them. One fell after a crushing blow to the face, but the other then took aim at her old partner. Not wanting to waste the time searching for a star, she grabbed a shard of glass from the floor and hurled it at the mercenary. It hit him in between his shoulder blades, and he fell forward with the object still lodged in his body like a premature gravestone.

Worried about their reaction, she turned quickly back to the students and was glad that someone had the presence of mind to heard them into the back corner by the gated wrestling room. With a nod, Dixon darted out only to return a moment later with the security guards. "—And keep the injured ones here," He was instructing in low tones. "They'd only look suspicious limping around the school." He continued with impromptu plans as Sydney and Vaughn hurried over to the huddled mass of students.

She wanted to gasp. The girls cried; the boys shivered; and everyone was too scared to mutter much of anything. Most of them were cut and bleeding from the falling glass, and some of them even had small chunks protruding from various body parts. Sydney crouched next to a girl from her French One class and examined her wound: a small scratch right under her eye. She was crying profusely, probably more out of shock than anything else. Sydney set down her gun and extracted a bit of frayed rope so as to wipe away the blood and any possible glass splinters still remaining around the opening.

The girl recoiled, obviously not trusting her. Sydney sighed sadly, handed the rope over to a neighbor, and reclaimed her gun as she rose. Vaughn placed a hand on the small of her back, reassuring her with a single gesture. "Guys, don't be afraid," He whispered. (Sydney placidly reflected on how strange it must feel to speak to students without a French accent.) "We're here to help. Now, I need everyone to be quiet and do everything we tell you, alright?" All of them nodded in unison, too afraid to do much else. "You guys are going to follow one of the security guards over to the church, unless you can't walk or don't feel very well. In that case, you're going to stay here and wait for some of your friends. But wherever you are, you've got to stay silent. Got it?" Another group nod.

Dixon and two security guards joined them at that moment after clearing the scene of bodies. "We have to move. They'll sort through the students and determine who should stay or go." After a small pause, he continued, "Speaking of which, I should go. Any suggested routes?"

"My father should have looped the cameras in the two science hall stairwells by now," Sydney said, gravitating towards the door with the other agents. "But getting to the third floor's going to be tricky."

A cocky grin. "Oh, a challenge. I like those." With that, he disappeared through the doors.

After assuring herself that the fieldhouse version of the evacuation process was running smoothly, she moved over to the set of doors through which she had entered. Rearranging her belongings so that the bag of shock marbles lay in reach, she turned to Vaughn. _"We_ need a plan," She said pointedly.

"Oh, _now_ you listen to me." She threw him a Look, and he raised his arms defensively. "Alright, got it. Not the time for corny jokes. Plan...Okay, I've got it. We should start with the math halls since they're closest. How many guards are down there?"

"None when I rendezvoused with Weiss, but I don't know if they've begun to notice anyone missing yet and change their positions. My guess is they haven't, or there would have been someone investigating by Entrance B hallway, the bathrooms by the copier room entrance, Entrance C—"

He looked up sharply. "What the hell did you do to those guys?"

Sydney shook her head, struggling to suppress a smile as she stuck a camera to a navy blue support near the door. "Don't worry about it. Just keep talking."

Frowning slightly, he stuck a spare round in one of his back pockets. "Shall we?" With a lasting glance at the students scurrying out the doors into the sunny afternoon, they both exited the fieldhouse and started down the corridor closest to the Bishop Gym.

The first classroom was black with abandonment — not contact paper — so they moved on to the second wooden door; Sydney picked the lock while Vaughn stood flat against the lockers, keeping an eye peeled for unwanted visitors. Finally giving way, the door swung open to reveal a small class of Sheltered Geometry students. The teacher began yelling at the pair in mixed Spanish and English, and Sydney had to practically shove a cloth in his mouth in order to quiet him down. She explained in fluent Spanish a quick synopsis of the situation while Vaughn administered a similar speech to the teenagers.

Once they convinced everyone they were 'the good guys,' the two agents began hurriedly escorting the hostages to the fieldhouse. "If we have to do this for everyone," Sydney groaned in frustration, "this is going to take forever."

"Hey," Vaughn called, "do we have a map? You know, for planning our next move and making sure we don't hit the same place twice?"

She shook her head and tucked her weapon away again. "No. I'll go get one from Dad. And maybe he figured out a way to get the comms working." She left him with a kiss on the cheek and a camera planted on the wall facing the ramp down the math hallway. Jumping up the stairs two by two, she paused at the top, wanting to plant more cameras in Senior Hall, just in case someone unexpected decided to try and find her father's classroom. But as she peeled off a cam-cam to stick on the science display case at the beginning of the corridor, she heard a noise ahead of her. Instead of immediately tensing up, she placed the camera on the glass and watched it dissolve into camouflaged obscurity while calmly extracting her gun. She thought she heard a scrape from the LRC hallway, but the clomp of a boot by her father's classroom monopolized her attention.

Anne stood solidly in the middle of the tile brandishing a gun. "Drop it. Now." Her tone held confidence edging on hysteria, but she aimed the weapon at Sydney's head with utterly steady hands.

Sydney raised her arms in surrender, the weapon still in her hands just in case. What the hell was going on? Why did Anne have a gun? Why was she pointing it at Sydney? "Anne...Whoa..." She tried, not sure whether the teenager would believe Jane owned a gun and brought it to school. "Calm down. We can talk about this—"

"I said drop the gun!" She screamed, voice echoing in the doorways.

The agent cringed, both at the threat and the noise level. If the agents by the library heard, there was no telling what would happen. But more importantly, would Anne shoot if Sydney did not comply? That was too big a variable to ignore, so she crouched and laid the weapon on the smooth tile. "Alright, alright," She coaxed, shoving her precious piece away. "It's down. I'm not touching it anymore. You don't have to shoot."

Contrary to Sydney's expectations, Anne's stance did not waiver; if anything, her gaze hardened as she steeled herself against something. "I warned you..." Sydney curled up onto the floor, covering her head as she realized what was happening.

Anne squeezed the trigger three times, flinching horribly with each silenced rapport.

But, miraculously, Sydney felt nothing. She unclenched in time to hear a thump behind her. One of the LRC guards lay on the floor behind her, bleeding profusely from three gunshot wounds in his torso. She whipped her head around and glared at Anne in disbelief.

Her friend mirrored the expression. She lowered the gun, her arms shaking as she inhaled slowly. _"Shit."_ She suddenly dropped the gun as if it burned her, and it skittered across the floor towards Sydney.

The female agent lurched forward, grabbing both guns as she rose. After relieving the merc of the weapon he refused to relinquish, she strode towards her friend. "Anne...What the hell?" Sydney could barely speak: her amazement, confusion, bewilderment, and frustration congealed in her throat. "Where'd you get this? How'd you get here? And _where the hell did you get this?"_

"I-I," Anne stammered, eyes still transfixed on the motionless body of their attacker, "I f-followed you when the guys in Commons weren't looking. I found _that_ under the vending machines at the end of Entrance B hallway." As if she just realized Sydney possessed three guns, a black bag, and multiple cuts and bruises, Anne jumped back from her friend. "What did you do? Why do _you_ have a gun? What the hell is going _on?"_

The moment of truth had arrived at last.

And Sydney balked. She ignored her friend's question but pressed the two foreign weapons into her hands. "Here. You might need these." She heard a voice crackle in Russian from the radio on the man's belt, and even Anne could tell that someone noticed the missing guard. Grabbing the teenager's arm, she tugged her towards her father's classroom. "There's someone I need you to meet..." The door no longer whooshed when opened, muffled by a cloth wrapped around the automatic hinge. It silently revealed Jack Bristow/Mr. Tull now attending three laptops with the old walkie talkie clipped to his belt. The chaos of useless technology and chemicals still existed, but it seemed as if her father had time to organize it a bit more: into useable and academic. The small pile of assets lay in the nearest corner.

He glanced up and barely batted an eye at the inclusion of one of his teenaged students; he immediately turned to the other agent. "Why are you here? Is there something wrong with the plan, Sydney?"

Anne's eyes widened. _"Sydney?"_

"No, nothing's wrong," She answered, glossing over her friend's protest. "The fieldhouse is secure, and Dixon should be helping the others on the third floor. Have you made any headway on the comms or contacting the Chicago agents?"

Wider. _"Agents?"_

Jack beckoned both of them over to the computers, and Sydney peered at them with her father. Anne stood mutely by the door. "No and yes respectively. See?" He angled the middle one so that even the teenager could see. "I piggy-backed off of one of their outgoing messages and simply split off once it went through the first satellite. I would have done it quicker if Marshall were here. And I didn't have to bounce the signal back from Russia."

Wider still. _"Russia?"_

Sydney mirrored Anne's astonishment. "Russia? Dad, does that mean Mom's somehow involved?"

"_DAD? MOM?_ Whoa! Hold the freaking phone!" The teenager's eyes — which, until now, were ready to pop out of her skull — narrowed in contempt and anger. "Either you are some kind of secret agents, or this is a really bad dream, but in bad dreams, usually my mom shows up and starts yelling at me. So," She transitioned, folding her arms across her chest with the guns still in her grip, "I'll make a deal with...whoever you are. I won't ask questions — _any questions _— as long as you let me help you."

The female agent immediately shook her head. "No way. Absolutely not, Anne! You're too young, too inexperienced—"

"Look," She interrupted firmly, eyes blazing as she slipped into her patented hard-ass mode, "I know this school better than either of you. I know where the cameras are, how to avoid them. I know hiding spots — I'm running tactical for the senior prank." She paused and raised her chin in defiance. "I could be an asset."

Sydney appealed to her father, utterly torn. Her friend spoke the truth: having her would be like knowing the locations all the booby traps in the Temple of Doom. However, it also meant dragging along an inexperienced innocent who could just as soon as get Sydney killed as be killed. But Jack merely stood behind his desk, regarding the teenager with cool, calculating eyes before nodding slowly. "She's in."

"But Anne!" Sydney objected, rounding the desk in two quick strides. "You said it yourself: watching cop shows isn't the same as living them. It's a lot more dangerous."

Her gaze did not waiver. "It's _my_ school, _my_ friends, and _my_ decision. It's my _duty_ to do whatever I can to help. Please." Her tone filled out, and she began to plead. "I need to do this."

She stared down at her short friend for what seemed like an eternity. From thinking Anne one of Sark's assets to thinking she doubled for the CIA to exonerating her to this _limbo_ they inhabited...Sydney no longer felt it a prudent use of her time to theorize Anne's motives. She did things because it was what she felt in her heart to be right.

'_The way I used to, before all the mazes and spying and lies.'_

She slowly nodded her consent.

Jack clearing his throat brought both of them back down to business. "Okay, Sydney, do you think Vaughn can handle the math hallways by himself?" Not even flinching, she nodded in affirmation. "Good. Then you two can start a new project."

"Commons," Anne guessed, her eyes lighting up. Both agents turn to her in slight confusion. She peered back at them honestly. "What? There's a lot of people in there; it's the largest lunch hour. If we start taking people, it'll be a long time 'til they notice."

Sydney continued to stare. "But how will we get them out? There are guards at Entrance H, the fire doors, and in front of Commons. And there's no way in hell that we can take them through the back way."

"No problem." Anne grabbed the map drew on earlier, setting her guns down in the process. She found Commons and pointed to a small area Sydney has never seen in person. "There's a really spiffy back stairway into the LRC that they usually only use for the Government simulation's Committee Hearings. It's supposed to be a fire exit, but it's not hooked up to trigger the alarms if opened. If we got to the LRC..."

"Then you could funnel them up from Commons," Jack finished, emotion unchanged at the young woman's prowess. "The fire doors on the other side of the library by the computer labs." He continued, focusing on Anne. "Are they triggered?"

She thought for a moment. "Yeah. I remember Jeff Anderson tried to ditch AP English last year by going out those doors. Earned himself a full week's detention and a five hundred dollar fine. But I'm sure someone could disable them."

"Alright. Here's the plan." He leaned in towards the map, and the other two followed. "You will free the LRC. Then Sydney will disable the fire doors while Anne siphons students from Commons. Any questions?"

No one answered, but the intercom on the wall by the door beeped three times in preparation for an announcement. All three of them tensed as the speaker crackled. "Good afternoon to the new Glenfield Preparation Academy. Welcome students, staff, _agents."_ In the pause, Sydney nearly fell to the floor.

It was Sark.

He was here, in the school.

A hands-on job.

'_What the hell is going on?'_

In a voice that crept up her spine and tickled the base of her skull, Sark continued his taunt. "Hello, agents. I would like to point out to everyone that there have been at least four CIA agents in your midst for the entire duration of the school year.

"Second—" Here his voice became sinister "—stop killing my men. You are outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched. I personally don't see the use when all you're really doing is signing your own death warrants. And those of your friends."

Sydney immediately glanced at Anne out of the corner of her eye, but the teenager continued to glare at the intercom like it was Sark himself.

"So, agents," He said, "it would be in your best interests to discontinue your assault. You have been warned. Oh, and Sydney—" Her skin crawled as her name flowed off the young Brit's tongue "—I have a glass of Pinot Noire here with your name on it. And your mother says hello." He signed off with a click.

Her jaw tightening almost imperceptibly, Sydney lead the way out of her father's classroom. She strode almost too quickly for Anne to keep up, and the teenager hustled to stay in stride. "That bastard," She muttered to herself, just as irritated that she let him get under her skin as she was that he _got_ under her skin. Not even looking at Anne, she added, "If you see a cocky blonde guy with a buzz cut and a British accent, don't hesitate to shoot. And let's hope that guy wasn't just luck." They both stepped over the dead guard and paused before the LRC hallway. She tapped her weapon as she quickly sifted through strategies. "We can't make a lot of noise, because the guards will radio for backup—" _'I feel like I'm explaining the alphabet to a fifty-year-old.'_ "—so I'd say our best bet is to go without these."

Sydney stashed her gun into the bag while Anne shoved hers into back pockets. Grabbing a star, dagger, and marble instead, Sydney captured the young woman's gaze. "Okay, here's the plan. We've got to get as close to the library as possible before we attack. That means we've got to be quiet and move as quickly as possible. Got it so far?" Anne nodded. "Alright. I'm hoping we'll get to the second open stairwell. I'll go in, draw the other guard within range, and then you throw this down the hall." The agent handed Anne the marble. "Press the button and get behind a wall. I think that's what keeps us from being affected."

"What does it do?" She asked curiously, more interested in the gadget than The Plan.

"Paralyzes them," She answered, a touch impatient. "But that doesn't matter, 'cause I don't know how long the effects last. Is there somewhere we can tie them up?"

Without hesitation, the student responded, "I can pick the lock into the old TV studio. We can stash 'em there."

"Alright. Good." Sydney exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself. She knew Anne was powerful and could hold her own in any argument, but could she seriously _hold her own?_ _'Guess I'm about to find out...'_ "We move out on my mark." She waited until the remaining guard by the LRC doors moved out of view. "Mark." The pair sprinted down the corridor towards the first open stairwell and dark sanctuary. They hid at the top of the flight until the guard reappeared and disappeared again.

This stretch of hallway worried Sydney. Besides being closer (and therefore having a winder angle of visibility), there were no hiding places. The auditorium spanned between the two stairwells, and there was no guarantee that they could merely duck inside if the guard unexpectedly came back. But despite Sydney's misgivings, the two arrived safely at the second staircase just as the man in black returned.

She mouthed to her younger partner to stay put, hoping desperately that the teenager would simply do what she was told for once. Then, gripping the throwing star tightly, she stepped out into the space in front of the LRC.

The guards had been checking in on a Consumer Education classroom, and when they emerged, both raised their weapons. "What are you doing out of your classroom?"

Tucking the star into her palm and the blade of her dagger under the flap of her bag, she tried to look as innocent and lost as possible. Maybe they could incapacitate them without a fight. "I really, really need to go to the bathroom," She explained, relying on an old standby.

They lowered their weapons slightly but continued to eye her bag suspiciously. "What's in there?" The other man asked, nudging at it with his gun barrel.

She looked slightly uncomfortable. "Um, they're, like, _feminine hygiene products._ Get it?" She replied pointedly, shifting her feet slightly.

Not giving up, the guards began advancing on her. _'Perfect,'_ She thought, drawing them back towards Anne's hiding spot. _'Come on, boys. Keep coming this way...'_ "I really don't think you want to do that."

"And why not?" The first replied, now suspicious of her motives.

Giving up her act, she sighed and readied the star and dagger. "Fine. No games. Your loss." Simultaneously, her arms shot out and cut the guns' straps, sending the large automatics to the floor. They both struck out with their fists at the same time, but she ducked and kicked the automatics toward Anne. One of Sark's men went after the weapons while the other stayed behind to attack Sydney. She swiped the dagger at the latter's head. He ducked and administered a sharp kick to the stomach, sending her reeling backwards into the well of an elevator for disabled students. Her back hit the metal squarely, knocking the air from her lungs, but just as she readied to fling the star into his neck _('No more Miss Nice for you')_, she felt a pulse rocket down the hallway. Her attacker froze and fell to the floor, an unconscious mass.

Sydney peeked out into the hall and saw Anne standing over the second guard with her gun drawn. "I don't think they ever learned not to look in a girl's purse," She said, stuffing the gun into her pack pocket again. When she saw Sydney's perplexed stare, Anne shrugged her shoulders in earnest. "What? He wouldn't put it down!"

The agent stepped over one of the downed guards and sighed. "People should really start listening to you."

"My point exactly!" Anne exclaimed quietly, helping her friend drag the guards into the library. "Bad things happen when people don't listen to me."

Just then, three guards appeared at the top of the ramp. Sydney caught her friend by the arm and shoved her into the doorway of the Government classroom as she flicked her wrist and sent her star straight into the neck of the middle guard. A barrage of bullets showered down on the doors, splintering wood and shattering glass, as the pair squished themselves into the small alcove.

"Use another marble," Anne urged above the din.

Sydney shook her head. "We need to conserve them. I've got this. Hang on." She leaned out just far enough to take aim and fire her own batch of bullets. The farthest one fell with a shot to his left shoulder, and the last guard finally went down after two shots to his stomach, but not before he grazed her arm with a bullet of his own. Anne gasped at the slight scrape, but Sydney glanced at the wound and shrugged. "It's nothing. Now come on: we have to move these guys."

They pulled all five men up the ramp and into the library, where three classes of confused and terrified students huddled in between two banks of computers. Sydney handed over the nail file as she began to tie the guards' hands with a length of her stored rope. Neither of them even acknowledged the students until they secured all five mercs in the TV studio. The agent immediately rushed over to the fire doors at the far end of the cavernous room and began tinkering with the fire alarm, keeping one ear on Anne and the other students.

"We've got juniors and sophomores here, right?" Anne asked the group, oblivious to the inquisitive stares from the teachers and librarians. "Then you'll remember the last time we had a lockdown like this. But this one's a bit different: this time, there's more than one crazy person with a gun. There's a lot of them, actually. So what we need y'all to do is be very, very quiet and follow my directions. See Jane by the fire doors? Go through those and climb up onto the roof. You'll find more people up there. Tell them you're with us, and they'll take you someplace safe. Questions? No? Okay, let's go."

Sydney smiled as she unhooked the wire that triggered the blaring alarms. _'She's good. Very good.'_ The students rose and began filing towards her. She allowed them to exit in groups, as she heard a friendly voice on the roof of the third floor calming down fearful students. Once they were all safely out of sight, Sydney turned to speak with Anne, but she only found two more haggard students running towards her from the 'spiffy' staircase Anne pointed out earlier. She funneled those towards the roof as well.

And the students kept coming. Whether singular or in groups of twos and threes, Anne continued to send teenagers to her partner for rescue. Sydney had no idea how she was doing it, but she guessed it did not matter: she was getting the job done, and as long as she was not missing a limb the next time the agent saw her, everything was cool.

But then the public address system beeped three times again. Sydney steeled herself against whatever came through the speakers. "Hello again, agents. I must say, you had a good run, but I believe I've put a stop to your operation. Seems Agent Vaughn is a little overzealous and landed himself in a bit of hot water. Better help your boyfriend, Sydney. Haven't you been _waiting_ for this chance? Or would you rather take the wine?" Before he signed off, she heard a faint, familiar beep from wherever Sark broadcasted his messages, then the intercom clicked and shut off.

The pair rushed towards one another, Anne obviously wondering about the plan and Sydney desperately trying to think of one. All that invaded her mind were pictures of Vaughn lying in a pool of his own blood on the white tile in Senior Hall, flashing on the inside of her closed eyelids like a morbid movie. She fished for and found her gun again and began to run towards the LRC ramp. "Stay here, and don't do anything stupid. Don't rescue anyone; don't try and find me. I'll get you later."

She should have remembered that telling a teenager 'no' was more dangerous than assenting.

But Sydney could not think of that at the time; she needed to find Vaughn. _'Vaughn!'_ She called out mentally, racing down the hallway by the front of the auditorium. _'I'm coming! Just hang on a little longer. Please.'_

At the juncture with Senior Hall, she skidded to a halt as a bullet whizzed in front of her face, embedding itself into the metal of a fire door. Hiding behind the same door, she peeked around it to see five guards clustered around the entrance to the farthest science corridor, all exchanging fire with an unknown assailant. _'I'll distract them. If we divide them up, we can take them.'_ She did not want to risk using a marble, as she did not know if Vaughn was protected enough from the blast.

Instead, she stepped out into the hallway as far as she dared, took aim at the easiest target, fired, and hid again.

The man crumbled, a red-hot bullet buried in the middle of his back. Their leader sent two of the remaining men to investigate, and she stored the weapon in her bag again. Gripping the heavy satchel in her fists, she waited until the first man rounded the corner and swung, knocking his gun out of his hands and down the nearest staircase. The second man attempted to aim, but a simple downward kick sent his weapon down the same path.

Guard One swung out with his leg and connected with her side, sending her reeling onto the floor. The second tried to kick her face, but she caught his foot and twisted, felling him to the tile beside her with painful and audible cracks. She recovered some of her own by crawling up, using the water fountain for leverage. But Guard Two flattened her against the device. Her only course of action: kneeing his groin. He dropped to the floor with an agonized groan, and she slammed his forehead into the corner of the fountain, knowing him unconscious.

She exhaled slowly, thinking she was in the clear. Suddenly an arm encircled around her throat from behind. It spun her around, and Guard One strangled her throat with a surprisingly meaty hand, slamming her up against the fire door for good measure. The push bar bruised her tail bone, but both her hands wrapped around his single appendage, desperately trying to free herself as the world spun.

Just as the lights dimmed, she heard the rapport of a gunshot somewhere in the back of her mind, and the grip on her trachea slackened. She fell to the floor, heavy and limp and coughing like a lung waned to see its attacker.

A pair of arms loosely gripped her own and helped her stand. Glancing up, Vaughn's worried face swam in her blurry vision, and she grinned gratefully. "Thanks for that."

He helped her over the bleeding body of Guard One. "No, thank _you,"_ He corrected, waiting patiently as she regained her breath. "I thought I was done. Guess Sark's cockiness played into our hands for once."

They peered at one another for a moment, searching the other's eyes for unspoken words, before hugging each other fiercely. She would have freely admitted that the possibility of a trap crossed her mind, and she willfully ignored it. When it came to Vaughn (to any of her loved ones, really), she was ready to lay down her life for them.

"I love you." "I love you."

They laughed shortly and extracted their limbs from the hug. "Where were you?" He queried, grabbing her bag from the spot where it had fallen and handing it to her. "You had me worried."

"In the LRC, rescuing students from Commons." His look indicated he wanted more. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Long story short, Anne was with me. And when she tells you to put something down, _put it down."_

Vaughn opened his mouth to say something, but the (now annoying) three beeps of the public address system cut him off. "I seem to have underestimated you, agents," He gritted, disposing of the previous 'pleasantries.' Another familiar beep sounded in the background, and the cogs started turning in her brain, working to place it. "No matter. I have a team assembled to deal with such nuisances. And now they have something to do. I thank you for that. Otherwise, I would've had to pay them for merely standing here." He clicked off without a conclusion.

Her present partner scoffed. "Okay, now we _have_ to find the cocky son of a bitch."

"Agreed. But until then, let's find somewhere safe to think," She responded, glancing quickly at the video camera at the L-bend of Senior Hall.

"Your father's room?" He suggested, beginning to lead them towards the second science hall.

She shook her head vigorously and resisted. "No. We can't risk it." Her preoccupation leaked into her voice, making her sound distracted beyond belief. Her brain still searched her memory banks for the other time she heard that annoying beep...

It came to her as a flash of sound and pain. High-pitched squeaks sprinkled among heavy-tongued sputters contrasted against beautiful, smooth glisses and clear tones. Nervousness as she guarded both words and movement, remembering phrases that made absolutely no sense to her adult mind. (Now she struggled to keep them out of conversations with her father.) Large, clumsy fingers slipping over warm metal, eventually pinching herself with the keys. A mouth muscle that felt like lead when she tried double-tonguing. Teeth that ached when she spoke and felt like they pointed towards the back of her throat instead of vertically. A lip that sagged — it must have swollen to _at least_ half of her face — and tingled as if a thousand spiders continually trampled the skin.

The first day of band camp.

Learning the piccolo with Anne in the...

"Vaughn," She began carefully, wanting confirmation on her suspicions, "what other room in the school has access to the P.A. system? You know, besides the Assistant Principal's office?"

He thought for a moment before saying, "The tech lab. That's where Juares has his Broadcast Communications class."

Everything clicked together. She tugged him around the L-bend of Senior Hall, no longer caring about the camera. The guard that had previously been stationed in front of the staircase next to the bathrooms was gone, probably part of the group that attacked Vaughn. "That's where he is. The noise is from the security sensor on the door. He knew we'd look in the Assistant Principal's office, because that's where they make announcements third hour."

"How do you—"

"That's a trap. He's _really_ in the tech lab!" Sydney paused at the music department doors, her brain turning over yet again. "That means the bug scrambler must be nearby. But where?"

"The band attic," Vaughn answered almost instantaneously. She glared at him through eyes narrowed in confusion, and he expanded, "It involved underwear and initiation. Trust me when I say you _really_ don't want to know."

She nodded once, willing to let the 'non-story' roll off her back for the greater good. "Whatever. Lead the way."

Instead of the music department, they entered the set of doors she used to get to first hour. Passing Tressaut's room and entering C-3, he headed for a previously unutilized door next to the Global Studies office. He beckoned to her, and she expertly picked the lock. A set of concrete stairs lead them to a hot, musty room lined with navy blue cinderblocks and filled with unimaginable clutter.

But what caught her attention was the small clearing in the centre of the room. In it stood a metal Vandegraff generator-like contraption: a reflective orb propped a foot off the ground by a thin metal rod. Vaughn grabbed the spine of the director's concert podium and pointed it at the device. "Do you think that's it?" Upon her nod, he swung the spike up over his head and brought it down repeatedly on the scrambler, shattering it and sending sparks rolling on the cement floor.

Sydney laid a hand on his shoulder after three whacks, and he halted in mid swing. "I think you got it."

He nodded and relinquished the bar before they exited the room again.

They carefully approached the back entrance to the band room — the one Sydney entered through on the first day of band camp. Quietly forcing the first door closed, they ducked below the window of the second, barely peeking over the edge to assess the room. As usual, the drum line door was propped open, allowing a limited view of the drum line hallway and the tech room behind it. But what stood in the top tier caught Sydney's gaze.

Sark, surrounded by more weapon-toting men in black, calmly instructed them to find every agent they could — they knew what they looked like — and use any means necessary to take them out; he would soon order the militia in Commons to begin taking hostages and shooting them in front of the other students. He dismissed them with an impatient wave of his hand.

Sydney bristled with irritation. She passed here on her way down to the athletic locker rooms: she could have ended everything by going a different route! Injuries, maybe even lives, could have been saved had she decided to traverse the drum line stairs instead of the back entrance, stumbled upon Sark, and taken him out then and there. _'Damn it!'_

As they crouched in wait, her hand delved into the bag and extracted the last two throwing stars. She tucked the gun into her back pocket and gripped a star in each hand. "I'm going in. Cover me."

"Be careful, Syd."

She smiled. "As always." He grasped the doorknob and turned, yanking the wood aside, and she sprang forth ready to attack. She flung the stars at the young Brit. One cut his leg while the other barely scraped his ear, bouncing harmlessly off the cinderblock wall behind him. When Sark saw her, his face cleared in recognition, and he immediately brandished his own gun.

Vaughn charged in after her, and when he saw the weapon, he tossed Sydney a stand to use as a makeshift shield. She hoped the flimsy metal would be better at stopping bullets than holding up music. To her grateful surprise they were, and as Sark volleyed their rapports, the bullets deflected into the wooden lockers behind them or a chair or the ceiling. While ducking behind the dry-erase board to reload, she caught a glimpse of the choir room through Guter's office, and what she saw nearly paralyzed her.

Two of the troops were lining up the mostly-girl class into a series of lines, readying them for an execution-style murder. Her heart sank, but still she turned to Vaughn. "There's a class in the choir room!" She called over the fire fight.

He nodded, attempting and failing to use one of his knives to pin Sark to the bulletin board. "Go. I can take care of him."

"Are you s—"

"I've been looking forward to it for a _long_ time," He gritted, resorting to his firearm yet again. She ducked her head and sprinted out of the room.

Her body beginning to tire from the nearly constant tension, she allowed herself a single deep breath before barreling through the choir room doors, weapon at the ready. Luckily, one of the two men stood directly in front of the door, so in addition to the push from the heavy wood, Sydney sent him sprawling onto the floor with a swift blow from the butt of her Beretta. He lay on the dirty tile motionless and unconscious. The other had placed his gun across the room on the computer desk underneath Guter's window. He gave it a longing glance from the top tier as he raised his hands in surrender.

The girls cried mercilessly as she trained her weapon on the man, ordering him to descend without words. Clanking hot pipes ran along the high wall just above the door, and she motioned him over. She tied him and his buddy on opposite ends of a rope she tossed over the sturdiest pipe so that the men dangled off the ground. The conscious guard cursed rapidly in Russian slang as she hastily passed the girls out of the music department and to Tressaut's room. She figured that would be the second safest place next to her father's room.

But during the chaos of ushering the girls towards the 'safe room,' she did not notice the cessation of gunshots from the next room. In the silence that dropped around her as the door settled closed, she noticed the conspicuous lack of gunshots and suddenly began to panic. Deeming it too risky to enter through the music department entrance (he could be hiding in an orchestra closet in the hall), she flew through the choir room up to the shared practice rooms. The two music department sections were connected by a six-foot-wide hallway with two cramped practice rooms on either side. She approached these warily: they provided numerous occasions for an ambush.

The first cubby on her right was stacked to the ceiling with empty and broken instrument cases along with stands beyond repair. _'Obviously no one's in there. But just to be sure...'_ She began poking around the cases. And then a dusty upright piano hurtled towards her from the room opposite hers, pushed by one of Sark's minions. She cried out in pain as it smashed against her already severely bruised lower back, and she fell forwards into the pile of cases. The man began pushing harder, attempting to smash both her and the rickety instrument into the minuscule space so he could lock the door and trap her.

Instead, she managed to latch onto the lower half of a stand, one with its feet and stem still mostly in tact. Barely having room to move, she peered over her shoulder and launched it at her attacker, feet first. It hit him square in the jaw, and while it only dazed him for a moment, that was all she needed. Heaving backwards, she tossed the piano back at him at an angle so it slid easily into the room. Lifting herself up on the doorknob and pushing with her legs, she managed to pin him between the wall and the piano and wedged the broken stand in between the wall and the piano to keep him in place. She heard bones crack as it forced the instrument farther towards him. She closed and locked the door from the outside with her nail file, assured by the knob's style that he could not possibly escape: there was no hole like in most, and there was absolutely no space between the door and its frame. Flashing him a smile and a small wave through the door's window, she moved her attention elsewhere.

She heard an indistinguishable noise from the adjacent space and instantly drew her gun. Advancing slowly, she heard it again: a faint, pained, _familiar_ moan. Sydney peered into the practice room door and immediately lowered her gun. There, amid crushed and slightly bloody boxes, lay her beloved boyfriend. Her stomach nearly dropping out her shoes, she knelt beside him and tried to reign in her emotions long enough to accurately assess his wounds.

The gash on his head supplied the blood on the boxes, but it did not look anywhere near fatal. A bump on the back of his head explained his state of consciousness. A bruise was already forming along his jaw and around his eye, and as she checked for broken ribs, he inhaled sharply and groaned. As he showed more signs of regaining lucidity, she slapped the good side of his face repeatedly while murmuring, "Come on, Vaughn. This is no time to quit on me. You owe me six thousand kids, a new outfit for the one you ruined on Thanksgiving, a date to the Prom...Stop being so stubborn!"

Vaughn's eyes slowly blinked open, and he raised a hand to her assault on his face. "Okay, okay. I'm up. Whoa." He collapsed back onto the crushed cardboard after an ill-advised attempt at sitting up. "Syd, which one of you is real?"

She sighed as she slipped an arm under his shoulders and heaved him into an upright position. He most likely suffered a concussion, and besides the fact that she did not know where he could get help, Sark was getting away every second she spent trying to think of a plan. Seeming to read her mind, he pushed himself to his feet, albeit a bit unsteady. "I'm fine. Really." She glared at him, and he rolled his eyes. "Fine. I'll go to Tressaut's room. He must have a first aid kit. You go after Sark: he went out the drum line door. I'll catch up with you later." She nodded once, eager to begin the chase, but before she even lifted a foot, he grasped her shoulder, partially to steady himself. "Syd, be careful. You have an apartment to decorate when we get back to L.A." Ignoring the mixed feelings that suddenly bubbled to the surface, she parted from Vaughn.

Wielding the weapon again, she crept towards the drum line exit, getting as close to the wall as possible. Just as she approached the door frame, she heard that familiar beep from the tech lab and whipped around, aiming towards the bottom of the short flight of stairs.

Silence and emptiness stared back at her. Her suspicions only heightened, and she skittered quickly down the steps to peer into the lab, finding only sleeping Apple computers and basic electronic keyboards. As she turned to investigate the drum storage room a quad case collided squarely with the side of her head, knocking her smartly to the ground. Spots, stars, and small bits of dust floating before her eyes, she saw Sark heading for the drum line staircase. Somehow she had the presence of mind to shove the discarded plastic case after him. It entangled his legs, and she saw him lose his balance before he toppled downwards.

She scrambled to her feet and followed, firing blindly down the stairs after him. Bullets from both spies glanced off walls and metal banisters, but he cursed as one scraped his cheek. She capitalized on his surprise and aimed for the gun itself, wrenching it from his grip in a shower of blood and sparks.

Training her weapon on his chest this time, she lifted her chin and allowed a sneer to creep across her lips. "I swear to God, I will take the utmost pleasure in nailing you heart to the wall if you move _an inch."_

He unnervingly mirrored her grin. "What heart?"

As he bolted for the door, she repeatedly pulled the trigger with glee only to find her clip empty. She cursed and hurriedly reloaded as she leapt down the staircase, catching the door before it closed all the way.

She skidded out into Entrance B hallway just in time to see Sark round a corner down the first hallway. He made tailing difficult: closing fire doors and tossing trash cans to the floor. But she pursued and even gained until they came upon the intersection with Entrance A hallway. The doorway to the outside sparkled with the promise of freedom in the near distance, but three people clad in black stepped out simultaneously to bar their path, weapons raised and trained on Sark.

"FREEZE!" A familiar voice called. "Federal agents! Toss the gun and don't move!"

Pursing his lips and frowning heavily, he threw his piece to the tile and raised his arms in surrender. Sydney did not know where to aim; were these people from a third party, yet another variable in the equation?

That question was answered when the agent who spoke tugged off her mask, releasing curly black locks and a cheeky smile. "Long time, no see, Bristow." Agent Cassidy Malone holstered her weapon as the other two agents secured Sark with a thick zip-tie and, along with three others, began roughly dragging him towards Entrance A.

Sydney sighed in relief, her muscles finally unclenching for the first time in what seemed like years. She slipped her own gun into the abused satchel and wiped her brow with the back of one hand while shaking Cassidy's appendage with the other. "I wasn't sure you guys were ever going to show up."

Cassidy shrugged. "What can I say? Traffic's a bitch this time of day." She offered a wink before leading the way to Commons. "We actually got here a while ago, but we've been a little busy cleaning up your mess—"

The intercom beeped three times again, and Sydney fought the urge to shoot the nearest speaker. "Ahem...This is Deputy Director Aramis Hernandez of the CIA. The school is back under the control of the United States government. Guess it'd be the wrong time to say 'school's out,' huh?"

It clicked off, and Cassidy rolled her eyes. "He can't even turn it off after a terrorist attack."

"Would you really expect anything else?" Their attention snapped to just inside Commons, and Tressaut emerged with a cocky grin, dusting off his hands melodramatically. "At least this wasn't as bad as our wedding."

"Hernia Herny drunk at a social event," His wife pondered, entwining her fingers with his. "No, nothing _in the world_ could top that." They smiled at one another for a moment. "Hi."

Tressaut _('Malone. He's Malone now...')_ turned to Sydney as if he wanted to say something, but just then, Cassidy pressed a finger to her ear, listening to a comm piece. When she looked up, she was all business again. "All of Sark's agents are in custody, and we're starting to get the students to their designated area."

"What do you mean, 'designated area'?" Sydney asked as they began strolling down the corridor leading from Commons.

Malone answered for his wife. "In order to keep this as contained as possible, we set up almost everything we need on-campus. The stadium is the CIA's makeshift headquarters. Most of the kids are in the fieldhouse being debriefed before being sent to the church across the street to be picked up by their parents." A glance at the clock confirmed the time. 3:05 on the dot. "Bishop is the hospital for now, as some of the injured are too unstable to move very far." He paused and gulped. "The Small Gym is for the unfortunate casualties."

The group passed it as his words trailed off. Peering inside, she saw a good number of bodies laid out on the polished wooden floor, respectfully covered in whatever cloth the agents could find.

Sydney forced herself to tear her eyes away from the gruesome scene. "What are the stats?" She queried, trying to sound as detached as possible. _'How many of those bodies are good guys?'_

Cassidy looked extremely uncomfortable as they slowly continued their stroll. "You should know that you guys did an amazing job." She began cracking her knuckles, a nervous habit resurfacing. "Weiss and Marshall took out the snipers on the roof before Dixon even got up there. All together, you guys evacuated the entire third floor, math wing, fieldhouse, library, and even about a twelfth of the cafeteria."

"But..." Sydney prompted, wishing her fellow agent would not stall so horribly.

She sighed and twisted her thumb, popping it loudly. "Injured: nine of Sark's men, seven gang members, one hundred and twenty-six students, and five faculty."

Sydney gaped. "They included the gang in their infiltration?" She received a harsh glare from both Malones, and she zippered her mouth.

"Unfortunately, there were deaths: thirty-four of Sark's guys, nine gang members, one student, and three faculty members."

The thought struck her with enough force to knock the wind out of her yet again. _'Anne!'_ But they had arrived at the juncture with Entrance B hallway, and a gaggle of people clustered in front of Bishop Gym at the head of the ramp in the math wing. Sydney recognized one of the voices as Vaughn's, and she hurried over, pushing through medics and agents and students and nearly retched when she reached the centre.

Anne lay stiffly surrounded by bloody paper towels and bandages. They contrasted greatly with her tundra-white skin. Blood seeped freely from her left shoulder, stomach, and head: she had been shot, stabbed, and thrashed respectively. The slack of her jaw, closed eyes, and barely rising chest all insinuated—

'_No,'_ She decided firmly. _'This cannot be happening. I mean, it's _Anne!_ She's too young and too stubborn to die...'_

Vaughn caught her eye and rose from their friend's side, guiding Sydney away from the circle of people. He reached up to brush the tears from her cheek — ones she had not known she was shedding — and hugged her tightly to him. "She was rescuing people from the gym." He whispered into her ear, his own voice choked with sadness. "She put up a fight, but..." He trailed off, fighting a strangled sob.

Sydney felt like melting onto the floor. They finally completed their mission, but at what cost? Losing their new best friend? _'I told her to stay put!'_ Sydney's mind cried. _'Why didn't she listen to me? WHY?'_

Clomping on the stairs from Senior Hall next to them pulled Sydney from her thoughts, and they both turned to see Weiss emerge with a large grin on his face. "Well, guys, consider this _fait_ majorly _accompli_. Now where's Anne? Someone said I could find her down—" Their devastated facades sank in, and he noticed the commotion behind him at last. He rushed over and literally threw aside spectators to kneel at her side. Surprisingly, he said nothing, but the single tear on his cheek spoke volumes.

One of the paramedics finally sat up. "We have a pulse," She announced, "but it's very weak. We're going to airlift her to CDH for emergency surgery. Out of the way. Damn it, I said _move!"_

Jack appeared at the foot of the staircase as well. Taking in the scene out the corner of his eye, he strode over to his daughter. He gave her a quick once-over, assessing her injuries. Finally grabbing her elbow, he directed her into the wake of the running medics. "We better get you to a hospital."

Sydney's brow furrowed. "Why? Dad, I'm fine. It's Anne we should be worrying about."

Halting in his tracks, he glared at her pointedly. "That bump on your head could use a professional ice pack." She nodded. "Grab Weiss and Vaughn. I'll tell the CIA we'll debrief in a few hours."

The four agents quickly made their way to the nearest hospital, fearing the worst and hoping the best for their beloved friend.

_**TBC . . .**_

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**Chapter Thirty-One: Han  
Chapter Thirty-Two: Into the West**

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	31. Han

**Everything's the same, and yet again, it's not...**

**Chapter Genre:** Pure, unadulterated sadness

**This Chapter:** Let's take a look at the List of Alternate Chapter Titles: Broken, Exposed, The Telling...

**Suggested Soundtrack:** This is a hard one to soundtrack, so if silence is your thing, go with that. Otherwise, "Broken" by Seether feat. Amy Lee, "Wreck of the Day" by Anna Nalick, "Breathe No More" by Evanescence, "Angel" by Sarah McLachlan, "Slumber My Darling" by Yo-Yo Ma feat. Allison Kraus, and "How Can I Keep From Singing" by Enya for the end. Or "Inferno" again from the S2 soundtrack on repeat. That's potent stuff.

**Author's Note:** Here's the reaction I promised. The quote explains the title. Enjoy!

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**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Thirty-One: Han**

"_There's a word in Korean. 'Han.' I looked it up. There's no literal English translation. It's more a state of mind. Of soul. It's a sadness. A sadness so deep that no tears will fall..." — President Josiah Bartlett, _The West Wing

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"Gin."

"What? I thought we were playing Battleship."

"I though you were playing Scrabble. I wanted in. Anything to keep my mind off of—"

A comforting look. "We know, Syd. She's our friend, too."

Sydney bit her lip, setting aside the report on her laptop. She rose quickly, her body still feeling the need to move despite the pain killers in her system. Heading towards the nearest hallway, she announced, "I'm going to get...coffee?...Yeah, I'll be back." She plodded around the corner of the waiting room and down a deserted hall.

Clad in the creased black pants, black spaghetti strap shirt, and black blazer of yore, she felt extremely old and out of place, even here in the hospital where the three agents had been practically living for the past two days.

Two days. She could not believe that only two days ago Sark and his organization tried to take over Glenfield Community High School. Those forty-eight hours had been filled with high-strung emotions, defenses for actions she thought needed no defending, tears, medical flotsam, technical jetsam, and everything in between.

Jack drove the three former student/agents to the hospital in five minutes, disregarding all laws of traffic and physics. Dixon, surprisingly, was already there, being treated for a bullet to the upper arm and a sprained wrist. He told the other agents that the doctors had Marshall in the next room enduring 'treatments' and phony shots — "He wouldn't shut up about his knee," Dixon grunted as a nurse administered a real shot of local anesthetic. "So I told them to pretend. As long as the CIA's paying, I'm not complaining."

More doctors treated Sydney, Weiss, and Vaughn in a sequestered room on the same floor. Each had cuts and bruises which required a gauze pad or two, but Sydney's severely battered lower back called for either a spinal tap to relieve swelling or a back brace. As painful as she knew them to be, she opted for the spinal tap — she did not want the immobility of a back brace, with which she knew her father would request a wheelchair.

She and Vaughn both received stitches: six for her bullet graze and twelve for his head wound (after they determined the concussion to be extremely mild; he had not thrown up on the doctors' shoes yet). Vaughn positively beamed through the pain as a young nurse sutured his forehead, presumably because for once, he received more medical attention than his girlfriend. Sydney merely watched where the nurse's hands were positioned at all times.

After Vaughn stopped gloating (Sydney threatened castration at the hands of her father — "Stop being stupid! You were _hurt_ more! Shut up!"), the three former student/agents began shmoozing the hospital staff in order to get information about Anne. But before they could get very far — Weiss was only rejected by three nurses — Jack emerged from the elevator already in one of his suits. He begrudgingly admitted that if they eluded the CIA any longer, they would all be court-martialed. Only Vaughn could convince Sydney to leave; she was more than willing to sit through a trial in order to see her friend — senators seated in a u-shape scared her no more now than they did then.

But as they exited, scores of ambulances squealed through the emergency room's overhang. They unloaded students — some on stretchers, some able to hobble inside with minimal assistance — and Sydney struggled to keep her eyes from misting over. Jack assured her that only the students with questionable injuries were shipped to the hospital (he actually said "shipped"); the CIA had taken over the medical facility in case someone said something they should not have.

Which begged the question: was the CIA actually trying to _contain_ this?

Over two thousand students, two hundred faculty members, and the entire janitorial and security staffs knew what happened; _all_ of them could not keep their mouths shut.

'_They can't possibly pass this off as a gas leak,'_ She thought as she saw two paramedics wheel in Joe Zimmerman, his feet hanging off the end of his stretcher. He saw her and waved weakly before the automatic doors shut between them.

Her father drove them all back to the school and directly onto the football field. Vans sat bumper to bumper on the track circling the field. Radio transmitters and receivers along with one large parabolic satellite communicator outlined the goal posts on both ends. In the stands, students still waiting for debriefing huddled together around an orange Gatorade water cooler, clutching Styrofoam cups like fire depended on their grips. On the field itself, almost one hundred Chicago agents dressed in black suits scuttled about, manning temporary relay stations or shuttling information newly faxed or debriefing the students. In the middle of the fray, standing out like a giant mirror in the sun, sulked Kendall. Sydney groaned and made to dive under the visiting team bleachers, but he saw her and began striding across the field to meet them.

"Agent Bristow, I don't care if you're tired," He greeted, practically reading her mind. "I don't care if you hurt. Frankly, I don't care if you want to punch me in the face right now. You can curse me out later; at the moment, you have agents to debrief with. Strangely enough, they would rather speak to you than teenaged Curly Sue."

As the late spring sun sank beneath the home stands, Sydney and the other former student/agents stayed on the field, seated in the same seats as a parade of different debriefers strolled before them. Long into the night, the agents answered the same questions until they all felt like robots. When Sydney's repeated request for a water break went unheeded, she refused to talk until Kendall signed off on a five-minute water/bathroom/food break.

To be honest, all Sydney could think about was Anne and which student had died. She asked each interviewer about both, but they all ignored her questions or replied with, "That's classified, ma'am." These Chicago agents were adept at lying to fellow agents, but she saw right through them — no one knew who actually died.

This epiphany disquieted her immensely.

Why?

Because it meant that they never found a body to identify. Or the body did not stay long enough for recovery. Either way, there was no cold, hard proof that anyone had actually died.

Sydney's eyes drooped, but the debriefing continued straight through the night and into the morning; when the horizon behind the school began glowing a pale pink, Sydney's heart sank. That sun was rising on an entirely different school, one that would never reclaim its innocence. Now they had reason for security guards and cameras and ID badges and random locker checks. She would not be surprised if security tightened: the next time she walked into the school, she might walk through a metal detector as well.

'_Oh wait,'_ She remembered, her heart twinging. _'I'll never walk into the school as a student ever again.'_ The thought left a bittersweet, almost indefinable taste in her mouth.

They let Weiss go around seven in the morning that Saturday, and Sydney followed at ten. She found her friend at the top of the home stands one section over from the press box: the Sousaphone section for home football games. Without a sound, she sat down next to him with her feet propped on the next row down, resting her elbows on her knees. Despite being awake for almost thirty-six hours, not sleeping well for forty-seven days before that, and a massive adrenaline crash, her brain still buzzed with activity as her body yearned for a rest. What-ifs whirled around in her head like maple seeds, and after talking for what seemed like years, she was content just to sit next to one of her best friends and breathe somewhat freely.

Puffy cumulus clouds floated briskly overhead, casting obtuse shadows on the agents still hurrying below. She saw Vaughn in a chair near the far sideline, struggling not to let his head drop onto his chest, and she heaved a sigh of relief that his injuries were as mild as they were. She could not imagine if...

A cloud floated over the sun.

"I don't know what I'll do if she's..."

Sydney glanced up sharply, not sure her companion even spoke.

Shoulders hunched, he mimicked Sydney's stance, picking at the medical tape holding a large gauze pad to his forearm. His eyes stared unseeing at the tennis courts where the students eligible for Regionals should have practiced — they were utterly abandoned. "I would never be able to forgive myself if she ended up...you know." He could not bring himself to admit the worst. "It's my fault that she got hurt, that she's involved at all—"

"Don't hog all the credit." She, too, could not meet his gaze and instead peered across the street at the empty parking lot by Entrance A. He scoffed, but she continued, "Eric, she's Anne. She would have involved herself in this one way or another. I'm just glad that she came after me first." He peered at her sharply from the corner of his eye. "You have no idea how much she helped. Without her, we wouldn't have gotten to the LRC or Commons. Hell, I would probably be dead." As he averted his gaze yet again, she gave him a once-over. "You really like her, don't you?"

"Yes," He answered without hesitation, completely unashamed. "The age doesn't matter, as she has the maturity of a twenty-five-year-old, and I have one to match. She's possibly the greatest person I've ever met. And I'm going to lose all of that."

She no longer felt the need to admonish him, as she felt the same way.

Vaughn broke away from his debrief at a run, and the two agents rose to meet him, finally greeting at the bottom of the home stand bleachers. "Sark's...in custody...and...I know...who...died..." He panted, the dark circles under his eyes not matching his flushed and upright body. Without even waiting for a gasp, he said, "Lara Andropov. It took them this long to figure it out because there's no body. They analyzed records of absences and camera feeds — well, the ones Sark didn't tamper with — and student accounts, and, well, Lara's unaccounted for. Then they analyzed the blood from Senior Hall, and the results came back — it's Lara's."

For the first time in a while, Weiss's face focused. "That means two things."

"Anne was the one who shot her," Sydney contributed, barely containing her glee. Her best friend shot their mutual nemesis.

"And there's no way of knowing if she's actually dead." Vaughn breathed heavily and glanced at his girlfriend. "And we all know what that means."

"She's probably not dead," The three groaned in unison.

After a moment of silence, Sydney crossed her arms stubbornly over her chest. "Well, I choose to believe for now. Anne unloaded three bullets into her torso; if she's not dead, she's damn close to it."

"Speaking of which..." Vaughn nodded towards the visitor's stands where Jack leaned against his car. "Let's split."

When they arrived at the hospital again, Anne was still in her first surgery. Since then, there had been many more: to remove the bullet, repair internal bleeding, and relieve pressure on her brain from the blow to her head. The three of them only moved from their waiting room when they needed to use the restroom or take a shower. Occasionally, they slept in the chairs, but the sleep was fitful and full of ugly nightmares. They ordered anything easily contained in a box: pizza, Chinese food, powdered Gatorade. But mostly they just tried to keep their minds off of what could be happening in that operating room.

Sydney nearly ran into an abandoned nurse's cart, and she shook her head to rid her mind of the incessant cobwebs. She found the bank of vending machines near this level's nurse's station, and she fished in her pocket for change. Buying herself a bottle of Coke instead of coffee, she heard her other best friend's voice pop into her brain: _'You know, they used to put actual cocain in there, and I'm not entirely sure they took it out. It's addicting and bad for you; wouldn't you rather have some of my pineapple daiquiris from the restaurant? They're new...'_

A hand from behind swiped her newly opened beverage, and she turned around to see Vaughn chugging contentedly from her bottle. "We gave up on Gin Scrabble-ship, and Weiss is in the process of breaking your computer." He handed back the plastic bottle with half of the liquid drained.

She took it with a frown. "That was a good hour's worth of caffeine, you know," She admonished, downing the rest of it and tossing the garbage into the nearest bin. Sighing as the insane amount of sugar did nothing for her system, she covered her eyes in an attempt to give them a rest.

Vaughn ran a hand from her shoulder to her bent elbow and held it in his palm. "Hey," He said soothingly, his voice close to her ear, "why don't you go home and get some rest? You haven't slept in over two days. Pacing around the waiting room like a crazy person accomplishes nothing. Sleep." He planted a kiss on the pulse below her ear. "I'll call you if _anything_ happens."

She felt liquid well up against her hand, and it took her a moment to realize she was crying. Lifting her hand and smudging the tears with her thumb, she responded, "I can't. I can't just leave her here. She's unconscious in that room — possibly even dying — because of me!"

Instead of refuting, he hugged her to his chest, stroking her hair, and asked calmly, "Why is it because of you?"

"Because she came after me!" She cried into his shoulder, her sobs muffled by his suit. "Because I told her to stay put! Because I know she's _Anne,_ and I didn't take her with me!"

"That's right: _she's Anne_." Sydney pulled away and glared at him in confusion. He continued to gaze steadily at her. "She spontaneous, she's rash, and she's fiercely loyal. It doesn't surprise me in the least that she went down protecting a friend. Syd, if you took her with you, she would have been killed, and we wouldn't have Sark. She would have taken a bullet for you. And so would I." He gave her a watery smile and cupped her cheek in his hand. Leaning into the gesture, she mirrored his façade, and the tears gradually stopped. "There. Now, you're not helping by moping around here. Get some sleep, and we'll call you."

Giving in at last, she agreed, "Alright. Let me just buy some coffee so I can drive home."

He left her with a smile.

Resorting to another fishing expedition in her pocket, she finally scraped together a dollar and twenty-five cents when a White Hen logo-emblazoned cup appeared beneath her nose. The tantalizing aroma nearly intoxicated her, and she almost forgot to see the person who offered the liquid to her as she gratefully grabbed it.

Jack's state of mind seemed unchanged as he sipped his own coffee. "How are you?" He asked stiffly, trying so hard to be casual that he came off robotic.

She shrugged as the generic liquid soothed the tense muscles in her throat, wiping a part of her conscience clean for a pleasurable moment. "I don't know," She murmured, her hands drawing all possible warmth from the cup's sides. Not wanting to dwell on herself for any prolonged amount of time, she quickly changed the subject. "Thanks for the coffee, Dad."

"Anne's awake."

Blinking hard, Sydney nearly shook her head again to clear her muddled mind. Her father's penchant for being as blunt as possible usually had this effect on her. "What?"

"Anne woke up. I thought you should be the first to know."

Thoughts chased each other around the limited space of her skull like children playing tag in the kitchen as her stomach plopped into her shoes. "Really? Did someone call her parents? Her friends? We need to tell Weiss; he'll want to be the first one to talk to her—"

"No, Sydney."

Her father's quiet whisper set off an alarm. He was going to ask her to do the thing she hated and feared the most. She had done this twice before, and one resulted in a death; a fifty-fifty ratio was not exactly favorable in her eyes. "Please don't make me do this."

"You have to." His volume lowered even more. "The truth will hurt less coming from her best friend rather than her love interest."

She still hesitated. The news was going to hurt no matter who told her, and despite her reservation about Anne and Weiss's relationship, she did not want to smear whatever might be salvageable after all this.

The thought of not telling the truth, of leaving Glenfield without a trace, never even crossed her mind. After nine months of deception and lies that went as deep in the perpetrator as the victim, Sydney thought the truth was the very least she could give her young friend.

Slowly, she nodded in agreement.

Tossing the now empty Styrofoam cup into the garbage on top of her Coke bottle, she left her father and strode toward Anne's room. Though the doctors insisted on keeping her in intensive care, the CIA mandated she receive a room entirely to herself. The Agency (in the form of Agent Jack Bristow) won out, and she recovered in a converted double room, outfitted with surveillance equipment at the door; they did not try to hide the fact that the girl was a security risk, and they needed to contain her.

Sydney paused outside the door, peering into the barren, white room and preparing herself for whatever reaction Anne might throw at her. She briefly lamented her friend's placement; if she had been in the pediatric ICU, the walls would have provided ample opportunity for gaze aversions. Instead, pristine sameness met her eyes.

Anne lay in the bed looking small and pale and weak. Oxygen tubes flowed from her nose, and the agent could tell it took all of Anne's strength not to rip them stubbornly from her body: she shifted minimally but uncomfortably, scrunching her nose as if the tube itched. Two IV's buried into her, one in her left hand for medicine, and the other in the right forearm for nutrients. A white clip bit into her left index finger, and the young woman examined it; when she removed it, the machine flat-lined for a moment, and she hastily replaced it. A large bandage strode across her forehead where they made their last incision to drain her brain fluid; she reached up to gingerly scratch at the medical tape. All of her exposed skin was blotchy with yellow and green bruises, both from the various surgeries and from the fights. Another gauze pad poked up over the hem of her hospital gown, and she greatly favored her left side, slumping her shoulder and not moving her left arm at all. Her face not only radiated pain, but confusion and sorrow as well.

After a 'now-or-never' moment, Sydney pushed open the door and entered, allowing the closing click to announce her presence.

The patient in the bed looked up immediately and winced, the sudden movement tossing her world like a pair of dice on a game board. Anne closed her eyes to regain her balance and when she opened them, her friend sat in a chair beside her, leaning forwards with a comforting smile on her lips. "Hey," the latter whispered, hand clasping Anne's own and smoothing over the knuckles.

"Is everyone all right?" She asked immediately, not wanting to waste time with small talk. Her eyes remained trained on the person beside her, gauging her reaction.

A dismissive shake of the head. "Nothing you need to worry about," She stated firmly. "You need to concentrate on getting better. You scared everyone."

Changing the subject.

Red lights and alarms, bells and whistles echoed in her damaged head. There was something...different about her friend, Anne just knew it. The way she dressed, the way she walked, the way she sat, the way she talked...All screamed, _"I'm not me!"_ She seemed older. Definitely sadder. Or maybe that was just wisdom.

Anne's face hardened with remembrance and realization. The conversation with her friend and their Chemistry teacher floated back to her in bits and pieces as if parts of a long-forgotten dream. Places, plans, details...names. Names that made no sense however Anne stretched them. Was there truth in any of them? She needed to know.

Despite her doped up (_really_ doped up) state, she decided to proceed.

Gulping and wincing with pain simultaneously, Anne spoke slowly and deliberately. "Remember when I said I wouldn't ask any questions? Well, I am now." Her friend's face tightened almost imperceptibly, but Anne could tell she pressed a button. "Who are you?"

Retracting her hand and clasping it with the other between her knees, Anne's friend leaned forward and looked her square in the eye. "My name is Sydney Bristow, and I am twenty-eight years old."

Before she could censor the words, Anne spat, "Then who's Jane?"

She still looked at the patient, but her gaze seemed far away. "She doesn't exist. She's just an alias. She doesn't exist."

"Wait," Anne commanded. If she had the energy, she would have cocked her head. "Does that mean you're an—"

"I am a Special Agent for the American Central Intelligence Agency, specializing is espionage and covert operations."

Anne's initial reaction: betrayal. So that person she laughed and cried with, with whom she shared _everything_, including her friends and _her soul_, the person who quickly wormed into not only her life but her being — that person _didn't exist?_ She spent the last nine/ten months befriending a fraud? So band camp, and the Street Dance, and the U of I trip, and Homecoming, and Halloween, and Christmas, and (oh God) Valentine's Day, and _(oh God)_ Prom planning was all fake? Her stomach bottomed out.

No.

She refused to believe that all those moments, all those great times they spent together merely talking or watching a movie and providing a running commentary, were out of anything other than genuine friendship. No one could act _that_ well.

Right?

But the two sides of her brain were now dueling with each other. Half of her wanted to lash out, unleash her red anger — partly fueled by delirious pain — and the other half wanted more information. For what seemed like an eon, the two battled it out, but eventually the side that required the least amount of effort won.

"Continue."

The woman stared at her. "Excuse me?"

"_Why are you here? Who are you?"_ Anne said, patronizing and sharp, like a fed-up mother to her toddler. _'If not to ruin my life?'_

She seemed slightly taken aback at Anne's response; maybe she expected the rasher Anne to explode out of her mouth. (However, that same personality culminated with her lying in that bed.) She averted her eyes to the hands clasped between her knees. "We were originally told this was merely about drug trafficking; the _Negro/Azuls_, one of your stronger local gangs, was shipping narcotics here from Columbia. Our job was to take them down—"

"Isn't that the FBI's jurisdiction?" A little blunt.

"—But then we discovered the whole operation was actually a front for a terrorist organization headed by an old enemy of ours. Hence the CIA." The woman seemed slightly perturbed; Anne inwardly smiled. "It took longer than expected, so we remained undercover longer than planned."

"So you only meant to parasite off of us for a few weeks instead of nearly a year?" Anne knew the snide comments would get her nowhere — that they were just a mask for the pain beginning to spread from her heart like a plague — but the tortured look they incurred gave her a jolt of sadistic satisfaction.

"Look." The woman met her eyes again, and Anne gazed back with a hard glare. "When I started in this business, I worked for an organization called SD-6 headed by a man named Arvin Sloane. I thought I was saving the world. Then I told my fiancé, and Sloane had him killed. My father told me the truth: that I was working for the very enemy I thought I was fighting. My father, who also worked for SD-6, was a double for the CIA. His name is Jack Bristow, alias Victor Tull." Another punch to the stomach for Anne. "My fiancé was killed; I lost six years of my life to the devil incarnate; the shaky relationship with my father was a lie; and I could _never_ tell anyone the truth. I know about betrayal, Anne. Don't think I'm a stranger to how you're feeling."

It was true that the woman's story struck Anne's overdeveloped pity nerve. It was true that Anne felt sorry for her. But still...The woman was being hypocritical. Finding nothing else to say, Anne merely commanded, "Go on."

The woman sitting next to her sighed and sat back in her chair. "I turned double myself. Instead of solely reporting to Sloane at SD-6, I would gather information and give it to the CIA, sabotage missions—"

"I know what 'doubling' entails," Anne snapped. "I'm not completely stupid."

"That's where I met Michael Vaughn, my former handler and current boyfriend."

This personal admission raised Anne out of her self-pity, and she thought of _Jane's_ boyfriend, Michael Tibot. How would he feel when he found out his girlfriend was actually twenty-eight instead of eighteen? And if she was an agent investigating the _Negro/Azuls_, could that mean she was double-crossing him? Michael Tibot was involved in a gang — everyone knew that — but no one knew exactly which one. Maybe _that_ was part of her mission: to seduce a member of the gang in order to gather information. She heard of such an atrocity before: she saw it on television shows all the time, and since what happened at the school, she decided to put more faith in the reality of fictional TV shows.

Despite herself, Anne began to worry about the woman. If the _Negro/Azuls_ found out she had been spying on members...Disbanded or not, there _would_ be ramifications. And bad things. Lots of those.

"Michael's in for a shock," was all that Anne could say, her temples beginning to pound with the amount of information and the buzzing fluorescent lights.

Shifting in the hard chair, the woman practically grimaced uncomfortably as she leaned on her elbow. "That's the thing. See, he's—"

The door opened a crack, and a familiar head, a bit cleaner and more shaved than usual, poked through. He addressed the other woman with an American accent, only acknowledging Anne's presence with the lowered volume of his voice. "Hey Syd, we're doing a Chinese Ho run. You want anything...?" He trailed off, eyes finally alighting upon the teenager. The door opened fully, revealing whom she previously thought to be Michael Tibot dressed in a blue Oxford, a tie, and black slacks. "Oh. She's up." The two exchanged a look like Anne had seen a million times before; she always suspected they communicated through gazes, but she never thought it was a _job requirement_. His statement was more than obvious: _'What have you told her?'_

He tried to speak again, but the woman held up a hand and began digging inside her blazer pockets. Finally extracting a silver lipstick tube, she uncapped and twisted it as it emitted a low beep. "The room's bugged," She explained to her male companion. "My father sent you in here just in time: she was just going to ask about you and the _Negro/Azuls_."

Anne's brow knotted, scrunching her stitches and making her twitch in pain. "Hey! How'd you—"

"How much have you told her?" He asked, still addressing the other woman. "What happened to the company line?"

Rising from her chair in a huff, she dug her fists stubbornly into her hips and retorted, "She deserves more than whatever crap Kendall wants to tell her! Vaughn, she's been our best friend for almost a year; she should hear the truth rather than that we've been killed."

"Do you realize the CIA knows what you're doing?" He gestured pointedly to the seemingly important lipstick. "She may have to enter WP because of this! Is than what you want for her?"

"I think she's capable of making her own decisions, Vaughn. She — like someone else I know — is too old to be coddled by you. And anyway, Sark is in custody; all top members of the _Negro/Azul_ organization are either dead or in a cell; and King Troy will dispose of the rest. She's safer now than when we first got here."

"You can't just force this information onto her, Sydney. It's not your place—"

The two began to bicker heatedly, throwing arms and curses so freely that Anne gave up trying to follow them. "HEY!" She cried out, so sharply that she felt something tear in her throat. They stopped mid-word and turned to the bed, somewhere between patience and shock. Anne tried to glare at both of them at once. "Shut up, _both of you,_ and sit down. Stop telling me whether I should or shouldn't make up my mind." The woman reclaimed the chair while her companion perched on the right arm rest. Nodding, Anne continued, "That's better. Since you're new to the party—" She peered at the male "—let me catch you up. _She's_ twenty-eight, _not_ Jane, and works for the CIA. I'm assuming _you're_ not nineteen, named Michael Tibot, or French."

"Oh, I'm French." He glanced at the woman to his left out the corner of his eye before responding. "My name is Michael Vaughn, and I am thirty five years old—"

"You're her boyfriend," Anne stated clearly, glad to know that, a) Michael Tibot would not need counseling after hearing his girlfriend was a spy, and b) there was _some_ truth in their lie. The man rolled his eyes, but she stopped him before he could even open his mouth. "If I hear any more fighting, I swear to God...I'll flat line. Don't look at me like that; you know I could if I wanted to. Better. Now, is there anyone else I should be aware of? Any other people who've been lying to me?"

The look that passed between them then was entirely different. It was worried, nervous, anxious. She spoke for the two of them. "Well, there's the new substitute teacher, Marshall Flinkman. Flaky Flinkman? Yeah, he's our tech guy. And the black security guard? Marcus Dixon, my old partner at SD-6 who joined the CIA after the takedown." She paused and twisted her hands in her lap as if rearranging words into a specific order.

He took up the slack. "The last one is my best friend, Eric Weiss. You know him as Greg Stone."

Anne's whole world imploded as if on cue, as if someone pushed down on the dynamite trigger box at the sound of her quasi-boyfriend's name. Almost immediately following, the pain in her head and stomach tripled, the pulses matching the levels of confusion and betrayal stride for stride. She felt like she was going to burst out screaming and throw up in the same moment.

So no only were her best friend and her boyfriend spies, but so was _her_ boyfriend?

Shots of indescribable pain rocketed through her system.

For a moment, she actually lost the ability to speak, something that had never happened before. To her, anger naturally came first. This feeling of blank nothingness — of sheer, all-consuming _emptiness_ — was foreign to Anne.

And she did not like it one bit.

Really? Could this be such a lie? Could they _all_ act as well as they had? Or was _this_ the lie, some elaborate prank concocted by Henry to say thank-you for saving his life in his own twisted way? Or was it a dream? No, her brain vibrating like a jackhammer on crack told her it could not be a dream. This, unfortunately, was reality.

She had shared her life — herself — with complete _older_ strangers for nearly a year. And she might have even loved one of them.

The anger began to build.

Out of the confusion, a question rose to the surface. "How old is he?" She could not even brace herself for the answer.

The male glanced down at his short fingernails and picked at one. "He's a month older than me." He sounded as if he wanted to say something else, but he shut his mouth and let the sentence dangle in the air, repeatedly slicing into Anne's already broken heart.

His female companion gazed at her earnestly, almost pleading. "He really does like y—"

"_Shut up,"_ Anne spat, more vehemently than she thought she could. Both of them recoiled in alarm. But Anne reigned in her emotions and let her questions and connections flow. "So the EWE Party back in October," She began slowly. "What happened there?"

"We were investigating Linda Schelsigner at the time," The woman explained while relaxing her posture, obviously settling back into comfort. "Weiss and I had to blend in, and so we drank. The drugs you saw absorbed the alcohol so we wouldn't get drunk. What _did_ we find out about Schelsinger?"

"I was only around to see the _Negro/Azuls_ reject her. Then the whole fiasco with Lara happened..." The two trailed off into unhappy silence, complicated by many facets.

Anne pounced. "What was up with _that?_ Were you cheating on her—" She nodded to the seated woman "—or were you just—" a sneer "—doing your job?"

It was his turn to shift uncomfortably, but his girlfriend answered for him. "First of all," She said, tone rising slightly, "_she_ came on to _him_. In order to maintain cover, he had to play along. Otherwise, we would've been made. It was always only one-sided." Anne bit her lip to keep from crying out. "Second, don't. Just don't do that. No more low blows like that."

"HA!" Her singular laugh rang out, this time all derisive and no mirth. "Don't you dare tell me what I can or can't do. You have absolutely _no_ right." Their stature collectively shrunk a notch. She felt the reigns slip and her grip crumble as she spoke. "And my freshman year...? Was that...?"

"Yes," They answered together, no more words needed about that subject.

'_Greg...Jane...Michael...'_

"And you don't...?"

The male shook his head as an answer. "Clean for life."

'_Eric...Sydney...Michael...'_

Slip.

Crumble, crumble.

Tear, tear, tear.

She moved beyond gauging their reactions and getting off on them. She moved beyond caring how she looked to the adults next to her, how they thought of her. She moved beyond caring. Period.

A sentence slipped out before she had a chance to complete the thought. "Did you take Andrew away from me?"

It took each a moment for them to realize of whom she spoke. Sydney vigorously shook her head and, her voice shaking and halting like Joe and Allyson's old car, she cried, "No, Anne! I swear we have nothing to do with Andrew moving to California last summer! You've got to believe me."

Anne peered into those familiar brown eyes for what seemed like an eternity, looking for something, something to grasp, hold on to, a life-preserver. But the murky depths were too treacherous. Nothing Anne was willing to grasp floated to the surface.

Something sharp and hot pierced Sydney's heart at the same time as something finally snapped within Anne.

The latter became livid. "I don't believe you. Not for one second. Why should I? Apparently you've been lying to nearly _everyone_ for the better part of a year! Why the _hell_ should I believe you now, now, when you _choose_ to tell the truth? You just do whatever's best for you at the time; screw all the proletariat who actually _cared_ about you for all that time.

"You sit here and spout all this-this _crap_ and expect me to just take it? Try again, hon. I don't care that your fiancé got axed. I don't care that your father betrayed you. I don't care that you saved my life. You. Hurt. Me. You hurt me. That's all that matters right now.

"I've lost some of the best friends I've ever had. How the hell is your apologizing by telling the truth going to make up for that? We were supposed to go to Prom together. We were supposed to graduate together. We were supposed to live together after college." Anne began deteriorating, face contorting and body wracking with hardly-repressed sobs. Tears started slithering down Sydney's own cheeks, and she reached out a hand but stopped halfway. "FUCK YOU!" She cried, her voice now almost at full volume. "You hurt me! You're a traitor! You're a fraud! Who _are_ you? What have you done? What have you done!"

This time, Sydney's hand went all the way and laid upon her friend's forearm, but Anne violently reclaimed her appendage. "Don't touch me! Get out! GET! OUT!"

Suppressing a complete break down, Sydney allowed Vaughn to usher her quickly from the room. The door had just closed when she broke out into full-fledged sobs, still clutching tightly to Vaughn's shaking chest. No one had ever yelled at her like that. Ever. She never thought this moment would hurt this much.

What moment?

The moment a friendship severed forever.

After a time, a meatier hand rested on her shoulder as well, and Weiss appeared over Vaughn's shoulder. His gaunt eyes and ashen face said everything: it was his turn. He slipped silently into the room, and the couple watched through the slotted blinds guarding the windows. He sat in the chair and leaned forward. He even reached for her hand. She yanked it away again, laying it across her stomach protectively as she turned her head in the opposite direction, sobbing angrily. But he persisted, craning his neck from the seat in an attempt to see her face.

Fed up at last, she pulled the heart monitor clip from her finger and dashed it against the wall, watching it shatter. An alarm sounded in the nurse's station down the hall, and the grieving couple was brushed aside as an army of RN's tossed Eric Weiss from the room in a muddled heap.

_**TBC . . .**_

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**Chapter Thirty-Two: Into the West  
Epilogue: Seventeen One More Time**

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	32. Into the West

**Chapter Genre:** Longing angst

**This Chapter:** The leave-taking

**Suggested Soundtrack:** "World Without Tears" by Lucinda Williams, "Glycerine" by Bush, "October," "Listen to the Rain," and "Goodnite" by Evanescence, "Goodbye to You" by Michelle Branch, "For Good" from the _Wicked_ Soundtrack, "The Soft Goodbye" off the Celtic Woman Soundtrack, and "Into the West" off the _Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King_ Soundtrack.

**Author's Note:** Very easy to write the moving stuff, as I was moving into my dorm room at the time and was feeling the same thing. Slightly. This chapter has a different structure than most of this story, but I felt the last chapter called for something a little more artsy-fartsy. So enjoy!

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**Seventeen Again**

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Into the West**

'_You don't realize how much you miss school until it's gone.'_ Sydney shifted in her seat, positively sulking. _'I would much rather be taking a test right now than getting clearance to see Sark. I swear, I'm going to kill Kendall someday.'_

Affairs settled after a few days, sliding down the totem poll from Insanely Crazy to merely Mental. After their encounter with Anne, Jack swept them off to the Egg in Chicago for yet another round of debriefs and reports and filings. When Sydney strode into the Atrium, she gasped. Compared to the self-described 'graveyard shift' she saw upon her last visit, the building nearly burst with running people in suits. No one paid any heed to the TV tower in the middle of the floor; instead, memos and wire communications and even a few crash courses in Russian translation captured attention. Some interns seemed to be carrying entire file cabinets in their arms. Across the room, Sydney spotted the Malones shuffling papers from desk to desk; Mark now resided in his old desk facing his wife. Jason Sterne, Cassidy's former temporary partner, was displaced to a thrown-together office space (a folding table) merely two feet away. He slept peacefully with an arm hugging his laptop computer.

As the Los Angeles spy couple wove their way through the crowd, suddenly Harold Frechmen, the Chicago tech guy, poked head and shoulders above most of the other agents, practically hurdling passersby to get to them. He beamed brightly as he told Sydney and Vaughn of his encounter with _the_ Marshall Flinkman — who, by the way, had single-handedly taken down all the guards on the roof — and was pretty sure if his life ended now, he would be a happy man. Sydney and Vaughn exchanged a knowing look before patting his arm (it was all Sydney could reach) before continuing on their way.

When Sydney approached, Malone stood up and shook her hand. "I never got the chance to properly congratulate you, Sydney," He said, ignoring Vaughn for the moment. The latter skulked silently. "Good job. Even for a woman of your reputation, you truly outdid yourself."

Vaughn protectively snaked his arm around Sydney's waist, mindful of her sore back. _"We've_ been through worse," He replied flippantly.

Malone turned to him with an even keel, one she recognized from when someone gave the wrong response in class, but he decided to consider it anyway. "And you, Mister Vaughn," He added pointedly. "You exceeded everyone's expectations. Many thought you wouldn't be up to the challenge, but your results prove otherwise. The _Negro/Azuls_ still don't know that you were the one who compromised them. Fan_tas_tic work."

The two men shook hands, Vaughn's expression insinuating that he did not know whether he received a complement or an insult.

All four agents endured a group debrief focusing on Lara Andropov. Sydney fought the urge to simultaneously vomit and fall asleep. While she practically danced at the notion of Lara's corpse lying in a cargo plane somewhere, that 'somewhere' still bothered her. After all this time, they could not even narrow down a list of possible locations.

And no one would talk, not Irina in Los Angeles or Sark in Chicago. Though agents poured over communiqués and held her in debrief for almost as long as Sydney herself, her mother insisted she knew nothing about the girl and even seemed infuriated when someone mentioned a secret base in Russia. _Jack_ called with no result.

Hence Sydney's visit with Sark.

_God,_ she hated Kendall.

"Agent Bristow, you're clear to enter."

She glanced up at the male guard, startled out of her thoughts, and rose to follow him. Down the familiar elevator shaft they sank, and the metal cage spit them out into The Hallway, one she had seen too many times. White cinderblock walls ran off into the distance, broken only by shadowy doorways. Her heels clicked on the cement floor as he lead her to the third door on the right, unlocked it, and stepped aside so she could enter.

Recognizing it immediately as one of the many 'Conversation Rooms' housed in all SD cell sub-basements, Sydney immediately took stock of any weapons one could possibly wield. But the CIA had also converted this room into a real interrogation cell, and all that stood in the room now was a dented metal table, one chair and Sark, illuminated by an overhead, unseen light source. Wearing the orange jumpsuit of a convict, he slouched loosely hog-tied to the table, only straightening up when the heavy door slid into place behind her.

His eyes bored into her own, and she desperately tried to decipher what she saw there: was it rage, relief, defiance, submission? She gave up and instead gestured to the chair where he sat without protest. "Orange is _not_ your colour, Mister Sark," She snitted, unable to resist chiding him and being on the offensive for once.

He did not even allow her the pleasure of a snide sneer. Instead, he cut to the quick. "Lara was almost at your level, you know." She set her chin and clenched her jaw, trying not to let him know he hit a nerve. But he knew, and his cheek twitched slightly with a suppressed grin.

A quick retort flashed out of her mouth. "I take that as an insult. I would never be stupid enough to keep important documents such as meeting schematics in _my locker."_

This time, _she_ hit a nerve, but he merely rested his hands on the table, chains clanging against the metal edge. They glared at one another for a time, each trying to acquire the upper hand. She eventually won, and he reclined in the chair, folding his hands and peering down at them. "Very well. As you might know, my loyalties are flexible." He paused and gazed back at her. "What do you want to know?"

"Is my mother involved?" Her surprise at her first words barely registered.

Cocking his head to the side, he responded coolly, "How could she be? She's in custody." Narrowing her eyes, she scrutinized him for a full minute, searching for any evidence of...anything. But he continued before she settled on an answer. "I may have worked for your mother and Mister Sloane, but I do have my own assets. I pulled this off on my own."

"_Tried,"_ She corrected. "Tried and failed. The school is still under control of the United States government; your organization — the entire _Negro/Azuls_ and all branches — are gone; and you lost one of your best assets. I don't think you came remotely close to pulling this off."

"You lost one of your own assets," He countered calmly, though with a slight twitch; he must not have known that Lara died. "Anne Lawson, if I'm not mistaken. I'm assuming she wasn't killed, or half the bones in my body would be broken. But you must have told her the truth. It's the least a considerate friend such as yourself could do."

Sydney almost snapped. "Don't you _dare_ talk about Anne, you son of a bitch," She whispered murderously, leaning on the table and matching his eye level. "You tried to recruit her at _fourteen!_ She remembers you. After that, she was never the same; you ruined her life. And for that, no one will ever forgive you."

He seemed completely unfazed; it unsettled her greatly, only adding to her pile of guilt. Crossing his arms as best he could over his chest, he arched an eyebrow. "Do you really think she'll forgive _you?_ Just because I'm the bad guy, that doesn't mean my tactics were any less underhanded than yours." The other eyebrow joined its partner. "I can live perfectly well without being forgiven. But the question is, can you?"

At that, she snapped. Bypassing the table completely, she grabbed him by the collar of his coveralls and yanked him directly under the light. In a death whisper, she warned, "Don't lecture me on character. You are responsible for the deaths of scores of agents, not to mention all the innocent lives you ruined here. We're through." Without ceremony, she slammed his head onto the metal table and, hearing his nose crack deliciously, threw him back into his chair. She practically heard the blood seep onto his uniform as she stalked from the room.

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_I've been betrayed so many times, it's almost become the norm. I deal with lies every second I'm on the clock, but they're still a problem for me. When I walk into a room filled with silent people, I _expect _someone to stab me in the back._

_That being said, I've only been on this side of the conversation twice, and one of them ended at a cemetery. When I told Will I work for the CIA, the consortion of emotions was diffused over several days and diluted by sheer adrenaline and fear. _Nothing_ like this. Nothing like watching the horrible truth spread from my mouth to her ears and brain and heart._

_I didn't realize it would hurt this much. I didn't realize _she_ would hurt this much._

_I used to think soft tones, clear words, and a matter-of-fact attitude would soften the blow. At least, that's what I wished for when someone exposed some new, mind-bending revelation in a briefing room or when I'm literally running for my life. I thought a debilitating truth wrapped in nice packaging would be like a spoonful of sugar paired with medicine: easier to swallow. All this showed me is, that's not true._

_In fact, I bet Anne found us taunting, condescending even. I mean, she just found out we were born about a decade apart instead of just a few months! Anything we said after we revealed our ages would have been construed as akin to appeasing a five-year-old. That sugar probably felt more like jagged pieces of mirror slicing into her stomach._

_We didn't make it any easier with our fighting. But I guess it distracted her for a time._

_Maybe that's all we can do in this type of situation: distract from the matter at hand. Whether it be with a verbal spar, random tangent, or comic relief, maybe the tension diffuses to the point of bearability._

_But then again, there's the fallout afterwards._

_And I know from experience: deferment (or 'sparing') usually leaves bitterness and anger in its wake._

_The fall is too large to venture a jump._

_I just wish I could have built a bridge so she wouldn't have to find a way to cross on her own._

_God, I hate this._

**

* * *

**

She could not believe they had to re-enter the school again, after all that happened. Of course, the CIA took care of all the legal hubris: voiding their official enrollment, whiting out any mentions in the yearbook or other keepsake mementos, explaining why the agents did what they did without informing any of the faculty. Needless to say, the school was not happy that not only students but staff and security were infiltrated. As retaliation, they exposed the agents as much as the law would allow: basically saying there were six CIA agents undercover at the school, and now there were not any. When Jane Porter, Greg Stone, Michael Tibot, Victor Tull, Mr. Flinkman, and one previously prevalent security guard did not show the first day the school re-opened, students put two and two together; rumors began flying, albeit discreetly, because no one wanted to be arrested for exposing an operative of the CIA.

In addition, the administration required the agents to attend a 'meeting' with the upper level staff, one the CIA could monitor or even attend. Kendall signed up immediately. Despite the slight exposure of their identities, he allowed them to schedule the meet for _their_ most convenient time: during the day.

That meant seeing everyone going through the motions she was so familiar with not too long ago.

She did not know if she could handle it.

Weiss and Vaughn picked her up around ten in the morning, a sharp blue sky overhead that faded to white near the horizon. The harsh sun beating down on her from almost directly overhead gave her an eerie feeling of discomfort, as if she now sat in an interrogation chair while someone else trained the light in her bewildered face. The three did not converse much during their journey, letting the sullen silence do the talking; she was not the only one who dreaded walking into the school during the middle of classes. She sulked in the backseat, knees wedged up practically under her chin, and watched the mockingly cheery scenery flash by. It felt...weird. A part of her knew she should be at school, tuning out Madame Cambodie and the rest of her French class, and yet...That longing would never be fulfilled again.

Finding a parking space at Entrance A in the middle of the morning was surprisingly easy. They pulled right in to a spot up front (recently vacated by a ditching Linda Schelsinger and Natalie Lozok), causing Sydney to rethink all those five-thirty wake-up calls. Maybe she should have ditched until third hour; it was not like she actually needed to graduate or anything...

As they approached the door, she absent-mindedly reached for her I.D. Vaughn stilled her rummaging hands and pointed to the CIA badge now newly replaced in her wallet. Again, her heart plummeted to her shoes.

Indeed, there was a greater sense of security as they entered the school: not only were the security guards standing up, but one of them held a metal-detecting wand. She raised her arms instinctively for inspection as Weiss signed them all in and received visitors badges. The guard — an older, short, and portly Indian man whom she had seen many times — did not know how to operate the machinery; it was off the entire time. She had not the heart to tell him. Willing herself not to glance back, she continued down the hallway to Commons and the main administrative conference room. As far as she could remember, none of their friends lodged in the cafeteria third hour, so she supposed them all free of awkward stares and moments.

She underestimated, however, how long the meeting would last.

After the bell rang signaling fourth hour, she grew noticeably edgy. Immature teenage sophomores — old enough to know what they did was wrong and young enough not to care — slammed repeatedly against the wooden door, interjecting shrieks of laughter into the administrator's harangue. Occasionally, a boy would lift up his shirt to expose a nipple and press it against the glass of the small window, the back of his head visible as he glanced at his friends for approval.

'_Look at what you're giving up!'_ She told herself sternly. _'Aren't you glad to get away from that?_

'_No,'_ The other side of her brain admitted reluctantly. _'I'll miss it. And I'm not really giving it up. Get Weiss drunk enough, and he'll do it on command.'_

The school's panel consisted of the heads of every department, a selected number of their teachers (apparently the ones the CIA trusted to keep their mouths shut), and their dean Mr. Arroyo. Sydney remembered the first day she saw the short and balding Hispanic man; it seemed like eons, ages, personalities ago. He said nothing throughout the entire investigation, even when Kendall and Principal Highland struck up a spat about the lasting affect on the students' psyches. Only when they rose to leave did he speak: he shook hands with her and stated firmly, "I hope you found what you came for."

**

* * *

**

_That's just the thing: did I? Yes, we got rid of the _Negro/Azuls; _party. Yes, we caught Sark; BIG party. But was that what I was looking for? Did my objective change?_

_The analytical, spy side of me says that, no, my one and only objective — reached. Done. Finito. J'ai fini. We did what They said needed doing; it's done; and now we're going home. Back to the real world._

_But then my emotional, _human _part kicks in and is like, 'Nice try, but you can't fool you that easily. You're official objective may have stayed the same, but your subconscious definitely added a little footnote: to make _and keep _friends, like any other normal human being would do when thrown into a new pond.' Whoa. My emotional side likes to mix metaphors._

_If this is the case — if I really did have an ulterior motive or 'footnote' to the mission — then I failed. Downright. No two ways about it. For my part, I failed the mission._

_I. _Hate. _This. Feeling._

_And what the hell is the 'real world' anyway? This — what we had here — was real. Yeah, our backgrounds were different. So were our actions, our phrases, our words...Okay, a lot of things technically weren't 'us.' But there was something — some element of it all, some feeling or motivation or intangible _something_ that made it all so real. So real I almost can't breathe even thinking about it. The friendships, the laughter, the love, the promises...Deep down, they were all real._

_She has to see that._

_She just has to._

**

* * *

**

A bullet hole stared her in the face. As her father cleared out his room (which the CIA had discreetly quartered off with yellow caution tape), the three former student/agents wandered Senior Hall. And that was where she found it: a perfect hole in the glass of a fire door. She stared at it for a while, wondering who fired the shot, whose skin it pierced (if any), who died because of it...And her memory drew a blank. She could not remember. She tucked her hair behind her ears, folded her arms over her chest, and stared at that sucker long and hard and still found nothing. Its cause remained a mystery.

But she knew why it was still there; that much was obvious to the New Critic, literary major in her.

Eventually, the four made their way back down to the cafeteria. As they entered through the doorway where Sydney made her escape from Commons, the bell for fifth hour rang, and almost immediately, an influx of students in suits barreled past them, wallets in hand and rubbing their empty stomachs.

An emergency Government session; Anne had warned about these during second semester. _'Son of a—'_

Instead of fighting, they merely clung to the wall until the final stragglers wandered in. Then, as much as she knew she should not, Sydney began scanning the crowd for familiar faces. Her professional dress allowed her to blend in while at the same time affording her a certain level of anonymity. None of the students had ever seen Jane or Michael or Greg in a suit before; reality hid them better than their aliases. She continued to peer above the well-preened heads as the political discourse washed around her. Apparently, the Democrats were fired up over the failure of the banning of doctor-assisted suicides bill, and the Republicans geared for a come-back with immigration reform.

She spotted them in a corner as usual, not too far from her vantage point; the same spot in which they danced the night of Homecoming. Politics had not seemed to touch them: despite political affiliation, the boys had each other in headlocks while the girls held hands over their mouths to keep from laughing. She noticed two differences: each wore a tiny red cross badge pinned somewhere on his or her torso. (Henry posted one where each of his nipples would be.) And Anne was not there. At all. No short, stocky spritely blonde wove between her friends, shrugging off elbows attempting to use her shoulders as arm rests.

Sydney's heart unexpectedly lurched.

Why?

Where was she?

_What happened?_

She did not bank on them noticing her. But suddenly Henry turned around and looked up, locking eyes with the older agent. His face dropped predictably, and the others started searching as well. Once Allyson noted their presence, she beckoned them over. Sydney glanced worriedly at the other two, but Vaughn lead the way with his hand on the small of her back.

All headlocks released as the agents approached. They donned the demeanor of real politicians. "Hey," Sydney greeted, washing between Jane and reality, therefore losing both. She had no idea which to affect: her lie or their lie.

They promptly solved that dilemma. John Motz nodded once. "We know."

"Anne told us," Allyson added solemnly.

And they did not look too happy about it.

"Everything?" Vaughn asked, his unaccented voice startling the teenagers. Sydney instinctively gripped his hand.

"Everything," Allyson confirmed.

"She could be prosecuted for that, you know," Weiss pointed out, somehow seeming to age rapidly in that one sentence.

If Henry had hackles, they would have raised. The friends rose up to their full height (Sydney knew she could even take the football players of the group, but they still looked intimidating). "We would lie for her," Henry responded, also growing before her eyes. "That's what _real_ friends do." The others did not have to nod to show consent. His voice contained so many facets that Sydney could not isolate a single emotion long enough to decide how to react. Loyalty, bravery, anger, maturity, vengeance — all paraded from his mouth and assaulted her heart.

None of the agents knew how to adequately respond, so they quietly set the subject aside, conceding the point to the real teenagers. Instead, Sydney turned to Summer, the notorious confrontation-avoider. "Where is she? Is she here?"

But even Summer was not an easy out this time. "She's still in the hospital. She'll miss Prom. No one knows if she'll even be able to make it for graduation, if the school even allows her to graduate after missing so much school. She's missing Government, her only chance to beat up Hartman's bill. She's missing Senior Ditch Day." Taking a deep breath, she plowed on. "Georgetown might reject her because of this. And it'd count as an expulsion. They don't know if they'll even have the money to pay for college now, with all the hospital bills. I mean, we're trying to help all we can—" she gestured vaguely to the Red Cross pin on her lapel "—but we've still got college to pay for, too."

"She's messed up bad," Henry interrupted, lips pursing as his eyes locked with Weiss's, not intimidated by someone who played every sport under the sun. It was all a lie, right? The teenager squared his shoulders, stature making up for his hideous purple suit. "Why'd you guys have to come here and fuck up our lives? You got what you wanted, and you're still here. You hurt everyone you set out to; now why don't you just _go home?"_

Sydney could not recall seeing him this angry before, and that combined with the confirmation of all her worst fears scared her to death. Very rarely did someone hit the guilt in her conscience head on, but he did, and now she felt the full force of the impact. Tears welled copiously along the edge of her eyelashes as her stomach decided to pay a visit to her toes. Biting her lip to keep the sobs internal, she squeezed Vaughn's hand in a silent, desperate plea to get them out of there. "We better leave," He murmured to the other agents.

"Fantastic idea," John Motz gritted. He looked ready to be Henry's second if he decided to pounce on Weiss.

Sydney successfully swallowed her tears until she walked through her front door. She promptly dropped everything, slid down to the floor, and cried.

**

* * *

**

_Ouch._

_My heart hurts._

_Can you make it better?_

_No?_

_Oh well. No harm in asking._

**

* * *

**

She always hated packing, and this time was no exception. They needed to clear out the entire house (the Porters were moving out, and they needed to sell the house), so CIA-provided packing boxes lay scattered throughout the house in various states of fullness. Everything she taped and labeled as CIA-given mysteriously disappeared the morning after its completion. Since her entire kitchen now probably sat in a storage facility somewhere in Cleveland, she ate mostly from whatever fast food places she felt would be devoid of her old classmates. After she boxed up the entertainment equipment, she usually spent nights aimlessly surfing the web on her laptop or sitting on the back stoop, staring up at the clear May sky. She relished these bittersweet moments: she had no idea when she would be able to gaze at unobstructed stars without being in an auditorium again.

No doubt about it: she would miss this place. There was something about it. Not quaint, because that made it seem sickly. Not homey, because that made it seem too cookie-cutter, "Leave It to Beaver." Just...she would miss whatever it was: a mixture of down-homeness and belonging. _'I guess that's what they call suburbia at its finest.'_

By far the hardest room to pack was her own: too many reminders of her time in high school. Movie ticket stubs from the latest Harry Potter movie found in a drawer; programs from band concerts and school plays shoved under the bed; and the pictures! Anne made doubles of every photo she took and gave one copy out to the other person in it. Sydney and Vaughn happened to be two of her favourite subjects. Thus...Many, many pictures marking places in half-read books or stuffed in the crack between her vanity mirror and the frame or just sitting in stacks on her desk. What should she do with them? The practical half told her to throw them out; they would only be a liability in the long run. If someone came across them...she would be burned. But on the other hand..._'I'll keep them in my lock box. They'll be safe there.'_

CDs, books, nick-knacks...These were hard, but she only had so much room in that lock box. And the clothes...they truly belonged to her. She remembered a specific event to go with every outfit. The corset she wore on Halloween; the green sweater from Joe's caroling party; the dress she was supposed to wear for Prom...

That one she could leave behind.

As she filled yet another box, she unearthed her cell phone. Ever since the Incident, she had avoided the small piece of plastic; its stony silence always reminded her of who was not calling. On a whim, she snatched it up and held down the third button to speed-dial Anne. It rang four times before switching to her voicemail (at the moment, a snippet of Mike Holcomb impersonating Yoda), and Sydney left a short message. "Hey, Anne. It's J—me. Just wanted to talk. _Please_ call me back. It's the same number as...before. Please."

Pausing for a moment, her thumb over the 'end' button, she squinted her eyes in thought. Did she say what she needed to say in that five-second message? Probably not. So she redialed and left another message. And another. And another. Sitting on the cedar chest at the end of her (former) bed and gesticulating wildly, she did not hear her boyfriend enter either her house or her room. He stood in the doorway with his arms folded until she glanced up, spotted him, and cut off her message mid-sentence.

Vaughn sat down next to her as she tossed the phone over her shoulder, hearing it thump softly on the comforter before smacking into cardboard. She dug her fingers into her hair, frustration surpassing the capacity of her words. He hung his clasped hands between his knees and fed her silent comfort. They both knew how the other felt and thought.

They fucked up.

Big time.

And, knowing Anne as well as they did, she would probably never give them the chance to _try_ and fix what they broke.

Emptiness, guilt filled her stomach instead of food — she had little appetite of late — and the two of them volleyed feelings back and forth as if engaging in a silent debate. Unease settled in their hearts; they felt like they were leaving off the end of this story, this mission. It (they) felt incomplete, unfinished, unresolved: nothing grounded them after such a turbulent climax, and their adrenaline levels floated about in the atmosphere without something to bring them crashing back down again.

Fixing her gaze on her own reflection in the mirror across from her, she sighed. "Do you believe in karma?"

Vaughn contemplated for a moment before also peering at the reflections. "Which answer won't you take to heart?"

Her eyes diverted to his reflection. "Vaughn..."

"Alright." A noisy breath. "The truth?"

"As always."

"Retribution, yes. Vengeance, definitely. But karma? It's too religious. All the payback I've seen comes at the hands of obsessed mortals." He shrugged half-heartedly. "That wasn't the answer you were looking for, was it?"

"No, I wanted the truth," She answered defensively, tone implying that he hit a nerve anyway. She dropped her head. "When this comes back to bit me in the ass...I swear to God, Vaughn! I don't know what I'm doing anymore! I don't think I _want_ to know."

Vaughn scooted closer. "Do you want to know what I think?"

She rolled her eyes at the pink carpet under her bare feet. "Haven't we been over this already?"

Staring at the same spot, he continued, "You think I'm going to shake you and convince you that, yes, Anne will eventually forgive you, become the little sister you never had, and we'll all live happily ever after. But that's not going to happen. She's going to be angry for a long time, and that's the truth. But eventually, the pain will lessen and by that time...You'll both have moved on in your lives."

Her eyes darted sharply to his temple. "Are you saying we'll forget each other?" His silence answered her at first, and she could only blink in consternation. How dare he think such a thing? Best friends, even when fighting, never forgot one another! Did he not know that?

"You won't forget," He whispered, almost to himself, "but you won't care as much."

Thinking about it for a moment, she saw his point. In a few years, this whole ordeal might be just another mission. These people might not have names. This whole ordeal might not be an ordeal. She saw the possibility for this, the open door. But that did not mean she had to accept it. She would _make_ herself remember, make herself memorize the names and faces of every one of her high school friends. Things _would_ be different; she hoped they would be.

If Anne would only answer her phone.

Not deigning to respond, she instead asked, "How's Weiss handling everything?"

Unfortunately, the gloomy mood did not lift as she had hoped. His shoulders slumped as his right arm jutted out to clasp her shoulders, pulling her into him; he knew why she changed the subject. He just wished it was to an unrelated topic. "Not very gracefully. I've already been through a slightly more manly version of this talk with him. Swears were tossed. Chairs were thrown. It was fun."

"Really?" She snuggled into his embrace, closing her eyes in order to completely focus on the feeling of belonging.

Planting a kiss on the crown of her forehead, he frowned. "Really. I told him he should think about seeing Barnett when we get back home, but that's when he threw the chair."

"It was probably the 'home' part that did it."

"You think?" He sighed heavily, his chest rising and falling sharply. "I've never seen him like this. Ever. He was packing the basement when I was there. He has one of those chicken-things constantly pressing the redial button on his speaker phone."

"Has he tried going to the hospital and visiting her?" Sydney asked, apprehensive. She was one step away form that herself.

Vaughn shook his head in disbelief. "Apparently he's tried, but during the day, one of her friends is there to keep him away, and at night...she's told the staff not to let him in. I guess he's seen Henry with her more than once." His eyes widened. "That was not a pretty part of the conversation."

She glanced up. "He must have really liked her." Nor thought for the first time.

He nodded, holding her gaze. "But I would call it love. He'd go to any lengths to see her again. It's what I'd do for you." She did not smile but hugged him closer, as if life itself depended on the vacuum between their bodies. He held her steadfast, rocking gently with their mutual effort. "You better finish packing," He noted, relinquishing his grip. "We've still got a few more hours until we leave tomorrow afternoon. Maybe Anne will have a change of heart."

'_As much as I wish that were so,'_ She thought as they began packing together, the contents of his drawer earning its own box, _'if I know Anne as well as I think I do, your first prediction will be closer to the truth.'_

**

* * *

**

Empty. Each room as void of _stuff_ as the room before. Voices echoed in the object-vacuum. Memories reverberated off the walls in time with the voices, and all bounced out and hit Sydney at the same moment, overwhelming her.

She turned a corner, and there it was — Anne sat in a wheelchair, desperately clinging to both an IV pole and Henry's hand. Her face, pale and ashen at the same time, twisted in pain as she shifted uncomfortably, her breathing shallow and quick. As she settled uneasily leaning more on her right side (towards Henry), her grimace turned into a pained smile as she peered up at the male teenager. "Do we really have to go to therapy today? Can't we just skip it?"

"And go where?" He answered, his signature freshman-style backpack hanging off the back of her chair.

"A walk, the park across the street, the middle school, the parking garage, anywhere!" She cried, seeing her opening and grabbing for it. Sydney mentally noted this change in character as she reaffirmed her hiding spot around the corner. "Just so as I get _out_ of this place. I can't stand it."

"We've got homework."

"We'll do it at the library."

"The walk would kill you. By the time we got there, you'd run out of morphine, and I'd have to call an ambulance to bring you back. Then we'd _both_ be in trouble." He squeezed her hand in the ensuing pause. "Plus, I know you don't care about how other people see you, but a hospital gown's pushing it a bit."

She rolled her eyes and frowned, averting her gaze to the tile floor. "I just want to get out of here."

"You want to go to the airport and see them."

Looking up sharply, she made a disgusted sound from the back of her throat as Sydney's breath caught. Did Anne really want to see them again? "Now why the hell would I want to do that?"

Henry merely glared at her pointedly.

Sydney's heart rose at the prospect of seeing her young friend at the airport gates or on the tarmac next to the place. Just one more chance to explain everything...That's all she wanted now...

But Anne quickly quashed that notion. Her face hardened, and she dropped her grip on his hand. "Let's get two things straight. One, I do _not_ want to go to the airport. I would much rather go to physical therapy. Two — and I'm dead serious about this one — we will never speak of them again. Ever. Got it?"

Just as quickly as it rose, Sydney's heart dropped a little lower than its original place as Henry nodded in concession. She wrinkled her brow and bit her lip in a futile attempt to keep the tears away. Rejected. And Anne seemed deeply entrenched in her anger — something Sydney knew from personal experience could be an excruciatingly long process. But unlike after the EWE Party, the person to eventually turn her around committed more wrong than she did. They would never get the chance to...reconcile? Was that the right word? Be friends for life just like Anne wanted in the first place?

And they were holding hands again.

Weiss would positively die.

Henry mussed her hair as he moved behind the wheelchair. "Physical therapy it is," He directed as they proceeded down the hall toward Sydney, IV poll trailing behind them.

"Can we at least do homework in the courtyard? It's so nice outside today. At least, that's what Tom Skilling told me this morning on-line. But he's lied before — is it nice?"

"Not tonight. Tonight's Prom, remember?"

She slammed the brakes on her chair, jarring them to a stop. "Tonight? Really? Why are you still here? Shouldn't you be taking pictures with everyone else?"

He smiled goofily. "Well, let's just say you need some _mental_ therapy. Like party-in-the-rec-room style." Anne laughed her signature one-shot as the pair shot past Sydney's hiding spot.

As soon as they trod safely out of eyesight, she scrambled out of the hospital, eyes blurry as liquid condensed along her lids. Never...Never...never...A car sat idling near the back of the top floor of the parking garage adjacent to the hospital building, and she walked towards it, trying to keep her pace measured and calm. She failed horribly, and by the time she reached the vehicle, her nose puffed and ran, and she opened the door with contradictory grace.

Vaughn turned down the radio and put his seat upright again, his hand resting on a half-used box of tissues, ready for her. "So..." He prompted unable to frame their hopes into mere words.

She shook her head, unable to find the words and phrases to express the pain of the parasite eating a hole in her soul. Swallowing hard, she finally said, "Let's go home."

**

* * *

**

_Knife, meet gut. Twist._

_We've been erased..._

_We've been..._

_We've..._

_..._

**

* * *

**

For near-the-end-of-May/almost-June, the day seemed unusually cold. After their last minute, last-ditch attempt at reconciliation, the agents took the train to O'Hare Airport with what little luggage the CIA allowed them. They inconspicuously flowed in the opposite direction of everyone else in the world during rush hour — _into_ the city. As crowds of weary workers flooded onto the platform opposite them, only the three of them boarded. No longer mandated to maintain any form of cover or alias, they sat as close to one another as they desired; Weiss, Vaughn, and Sydney clumped in the centre with Marshall and Dixon (trying to ignore his seat mate) on the opposite side of the aisle. Jack sat in the back of the car, reading his last Chicago newspaper. Needless to say, they remained silent throughout the ride.

Sydney leaned against the shell of the train, staring out at the blurred landscape as she allowed Vaughn to clasp her hand and rest it on his knee. She felt like she was looking for something; whether it was some sign that Anne was coming, solace, or where the time had gone, she did not know. Vaughn pretended to leaf through a three-month-old _Sports Illustrated_, 'looking for the hockey articles,' when in fact he breezed right past them, instead focusing his attention on stealing glances at his girlfriend and assessing her mental state.

Weiss sat with his elbows on his knees and his cell phone clutched tightly in both fists.

He panicked every time the car went dark as they rushed through a tunnel or under an overpass.

The anonymity of the airport eased Sydney's nerves a bit, but when Jack lead them out of the main terminals towards a separate entrance to the tarmac, she sighed heavily.

This was really it.

This was really happening.

She was really going...home.

And Anne really was not there.

It finally fully hit her when her rolling suitcase hit the tarmac, and she saw the CIA-chartered jet plane — minus the fantasized former best friend. She would probably never see Anne — any of them — ever again. She would go to Los Angeles, live her life, and they would stay in Chicago and live theirs without the two strands ever intersecting again. The thought was practically unbearable.

The three former student/agents overtly peered about, hoping against hope that a loud, wheelchair-bound blonde would come racing around the landing gear of the nearest jumbo jet. At one point, Sydney gasped in hopeful surprise, only to blink and the wheelchair turn into a luggage cart and the blonde morph into a tall Scandinavian mechanic.

They boarded the plane without further incident.

After settling in for the long flight, the plane began to taxi and head towards their runway. She gritted her teeth and squeezed the armrest and Vaughn's hand alternately, tears springing to her eyes as the wheels retracted into the cargo area.

It carried her towards one best friend and away from another.

A realization dawned on her: she felt grown-up, more so than she had ever felt in her adult life. Adding ten years to one's age might do that.

Being seventeen was definitely not a party.

But it was sure fun while it lasted.

She just wished, as arbitrary as age was, that growing up did not have to hurt so much.

_**TBC . . .**_

_**

* * *

**_

**Epilogue:** Seventeen One Last Time

Just the epilogue to go, my little penguin spew. Please leave feedback; it's nearing the very end, and I'd love to know what you think!

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


	33. Seventeen One Last Time

**Dedication/Thanks:** This entire story is dedicated to Mister James L. Guter, former director of bands at West Chicago Community High School. He retired in 2004, and he will be sorely missed by everyone. I know I'll miss his jokes and stories, especially the ones he's told me about twenty times. Like the one about Napoleon's tomb. Or the guy who heard Charlie Parker play and threw his tenor sax into a river. Or how Bush has ruined America. Or any story from his Navy days. Guter, here's to you. Thanks for giving me courage and a dirty, dirty mind, and for proving dictatorships do work. Without you, I'd still be wearing pants.

- And, of course, to every single person who ever took a few minutes (or hours, depending on the chapter) out of their day to read and respond this. Your words and encouragement and constructive criticism have inspired me to no ends. I truly wouldn't be here without _all_ of you.

**One more reminder about everything...**

**Title:** Seventeen Again  
**Author:** Dream Writer 4 Life  
**Rating:** PG-13/K+  
**Genre:** General/Humour/Romance/Drama/Angst/Action/Adventure...pretty much everything  
'**Shippers' Paradise:** S/V, F/Will, W/OC  
**Spoilers/Timeline:** After Phase One with hints of events throughout the first two seasons; Francie's good; Irina's in custody; basically AU  
**Summary:** Syd receives her next long-term undercover assignment: infiltrate a high school and bust its drug ring. Not exactly super spy stuff. Twists, turns, humour, and angst galore: basically a normal day in high school.  
**Disclaimer:** I own nothing "Alias"-related. Period. End of story. Wait, not it's not! Keep reading! Everything you don't recognize is either real or out of my own twisted imagination. And believe me, you don't want that.**  
This Chapter:** Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Disney World...  
**Chapter Genre:** Let's just say we run the gambit of emotions.  
**Suggested Soundtrack:** "Dear Lie" by TLC, "I Will Remember You" by Sarah McLachlan, "Forgive Me" by Evanescence, "Hard Times Come Again No More" by Yo-Yo Ma featuring James Taylor  
**Author's Note:** At end. For once.

**

* * *

**

**Seventeen Again**

**Epilogue: Seventeen One Last Time**

"I can't do this."

"Sydney..."

"Vaughn, I'm serious! What if she refuses to see us and makes a scene?"

"I don't think she'll make a scene in the middle of Disney World; it's too public."

"That shows how well you remember Anne Lawson."

Less than a month after their final departure from the students of Glenfield Community High School, Sydney Bristow and Michael Vaughn found themselves amongst them once again. The band took their trip to Disney World, and they decided to tag along. After much deliberation, of course; Sydney volleyed back and forth from dialing the phone to cancel the plane tickets to hopping in the car with Florida as her destination. Only fear surpassed her nervousness. She almost envied Weiss and his mission to Hong Kong.

Ever since they landed, Weiss had been notably different. He tried to hide the multitude of emotions for everyone's benefit — Sydney most of all — but he ended up coming off as distant and cold. ("It's-it's like the soul's been sucked out him," Vaughn once commented.) Eventually, Sydney and Weiss began Oscar-caliber performance dance routines whenever the other entered the room, skirting around the Elephant in the Room centerpiece and pretending the past _year_ had not happened. Sydney quickly tired of her role and informed him of such. This dialogue exchange promptly culminated in a broken kitchen chair and a Weiss's fist-sized hole in the wall next to the refrigerator.

She slid the appliance one foot to the right and had yet to speak with him since, an admirable feat considering the fact that his best friend and hockey buddy just moved in with her.

Upon the announcement that the apartment would be featuring one more cast member, Francie had ceased to sleep...or stop talking. Her excitement over the consolidation of the Sydney/Michael ("Vaughn!" "I don't care what you call him in bed, but to me, he's Michael") burned with an unstoppable fire, and from the moment the first box dropped onto the floor, she had not stopped smiling. She thoroughly monopolized every second she could squeeze from Sydney, and while the two of them bustled around the apartment like possessed beings, Vaughn and Will lounged on the sofa, downing "hard-earned" beers and watching the Dodgers get whipped in four games straight. Sydney repeatedly threw threatening glances at her boyfriend.

Affairs settled into a comfortable _('wonderful')_ routine fairly quickly, but the gnawing in Sydney's heart did not decrease. She had allowed herself one picture from the past year to be kept inside the house. One night, while both Will and Francie were out, she and Vaughn installed a small key pad safe hidden by the crown molding behind their bed. Its only contents: the picture. She took it out whenever she felt a particularly acute attack of loneliness sweep over her. Those bouts increased, and Vaughn finally suggested that they fly out to Orlando, Florida, and catch up with the band. She did not hesitate: "YES!"

Hence the impromptu vacation in Disney World (not Disneyland) in the _muggy _hundred-degree-plus weather _('it's like band camp all over again')_ and not a clue as to where they would actually find the band, let alone Anne.

Anticipating Guter's attempt at education, they journeyed to Epcot on their first day. As soon as they stepped into the nearly deserted park, they spotted a group of juniors headed by Malissa Kinils. Near China, she heard Dani Allen and other freshmen discuss the merits of actually having a job in Disney World. In line at the Honey, I Shrunk the Audience ride, sophomores Ben East and Sarah Neumann critiqued their practice session that morning.

In other words, she saw practically every other band member besides the ten or so that she _needed_ to see.

Maybe Anne did not go on the trip. If she did not, then her friends certainly did not, if Prom was any indicator. Or maybe Anne was still in the hospital. Maybe she was—

She heard them before she saw them: Anne's signature sound burst of a laugh followed by, "Sexy, party of...Hey, how many do we have now?...No, we pawned off Katie on Tobi...Eight? Aw hell, Allyson! We're over here!" A bittersweet smile crept across Sydney's lips as her boyfriend squeezed her waist in support. Turning towards the sound, Sydney saw Anne — still in her wheelchair, and still being pushed by Henry — and her "Sexy, party of whatever" milling around the exit to the Test Track ride. Not daring to approach them head-on, Sydney dragged Vaughn out of their line of vision, following instead of confronting.

The rest of the day played out like that, with Sydney and Vaughn discreetly tailing the ever-changing group of friends. (Anne was right in not knowing how big the Sexy Party was.) Every time Sydney thought she worked up enough nerve to say _something_ to them, Anne laughed or smiled or talked, and all the female agent could see was the paper towels soaked with the teenager's blood littering the dirty tile floor; the machines keeping her alive; the look on her face when Sydney told her—

And she would back off again. She became frustrated with herself and this amateurish strategy of advance and retreat, but for the first time since she joined SD-6, she felt truly unsure of herself. In the span of a few hours, she completely reverted back to the shy college freshman who needed the approval of Arvin Sloane in order to feel confident. She would not talk out of anger and frustration; instead, she pursed her lips and slid into spy mode.

Vaughn immediately noticed her rigidity and lent as much support as he could, and she was grateful for it. Part of her knew she was being ridiculous while the other part concentrated on piecing together her obliterated courage. By lunchtime, she gave up her quest, and the two of them left the park at Vaughn's suggestion; he knew neither of them would be able to enjoy Epcot with band members swarming all over the place. "We'll get her tomorrow," He whispered into her ear as his arm crept around her shoulders. Only then did she notice she had not learned the itinerary for the week. As if reading her mind, he held up a yellow-covered booklet and offered her favourite half-grin. "They're at MGM tomorrow. You rest and relax, and I'll get us tickets."

'God, _I love this man.'_

Once again, a piercing laugh shook Sydney from her thoughts. Almost simultaneously, Vaughn gripped her waist tighter. "Syd." Vaughn's soothing but anxious murmur broke into her thoughts. "They're over there." He nodded towards the darkest corner of the park, wrapped in a blanket of darkness trailing behind the tallest building around: the Tower of Terror. Many patrons mulled about in the shade provided by palm trees and other exotic fauna planted to give the hotel an eclectic ambiance. Sweat dripped from every inch of exposed skin, and the half-hearted wind deceived — it exuded the pretense of cooling but only delivered dust and heat.

None of this affected their effervescent young friend. She and her wheelchair had broken out from Henry's grasp, and she powered away, clutching a blue Stitch doll beneath her chin.

She was headed straight towards them.

Sydney shot her companion a nervous glance. "I was serious, Vaughn; I don't think I can do this..."

"Looks like you don't have a choice, Syd—"

Anne stopped just short of bowling them over like wooden pins, and the plush souvenir fell from her grasp as she tried to regain her composure. "I am _so_ sorry! See, my friends were...! Okay, there really is no excuse, but I'm still—"

Sydney knelt down to retrieve the toy and held it out to her. For the first time in about a month, the former best friends locked eyes. The agent watched while the student's façade morphed from happily apologetic to recognition to anger to hatred. Her upper body stiffened, and she sat up straighter. She still greatly favored her left side, the gauze pads parading across her shoulder and forehead — probably more for the viewer's sake than for protection or sanitation. Her pasty skin practically glowed in the harsh Florida sun, and Sydney immediately knew that this trip was the first time she had been out of the hospital grounds since her admittance. The now completely natural blonde hair fell just past her shoulders in wisps, the rest of it being held up by an uncharacteristically messy bun. She had decorated the wheelchair with anything from smiley face stickers and Fall Out Boy pins to quotes painted in white-out and swatches of fabric in different textures.

Henry's backpack still hung off the back.

Moving to wheel herself back up the slight incline towards her friends, she turned away and stated coldly, "Don't bother. Keep it."

But before Anne could lay a hand on the wheel, Sydney took matters into her own hands and engaged the brakes herself. "Anne, don't. Please. Just give me five minutes. That's all I ask."

Almost hissing at Sydney's invasion into her personal space, the student glared over her shoulder at Vaughn as if seeing him for the first time. "Why are _you_ here?" Looking slightly miffed and taken aback, he opened his mouth to respond, but she stepped over his answer. "Is _He_ here? Is _He_ with you?" As discreetly as possible, she began casting her gaze about the vacationers around them.

"He's in Hong Kong on a diplomatic assignment right now," Vaughn said, carefully choosing his words after the girl almost bit his head off. Kneeling down to the same height, he placed a hand on her knee. "He really wanted to be here, but we figured you wouldn't want to see him."

"Damn straight," She replied, practically spitting venom. "I don't even want to see _you_ right now. Why do you two have to ruin everything? The first time I get to breathe real air in a month, and you have to pollute it. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

She tried to spin away again, but Vaughn's hand held steadfast. "We can't until you let us speak. Hear us out."

Giving him a greasy, distaining once-over, she gritted, "I have issues with you — duh. But they're _minor_ compared to hers." She jerked her head towards Sydney, and the female agent bit her lip to stifle a grimace. "And _she_ can speak for herself, Michael. You still go by that, right?" He shot a glance in Sydney's direction before nodding once. Anne sneered at the other woman. "I don't even know what the hell to call you anymore."

"Anything you want," Sydney responded, pouncing on the opportunity to accommodate her young companion in any way possible. She had to struggle to check her desperation. "You can call me anything you want as long as you give us five minutes of your time." Their eyes locked again, and Sydney tried to poor all of herself into that single gaze. "Just five minutes."

Anne considered her proposition for what seemed like a year — something that Sydney cautiously construed as a positive sign. She finally nodded and wordlessly led the way to a deserted stretch of pavement near the gates to some Disney backlot. "Sit," She commanded, indicating the leaf-strewn ground. They quickly acquiesced, and Anne angrily slammed the brakes down on her chair. Hot tears burned in her eyes, and she twisted one of the ears on the Stitch souvenir as she thought of what she wanted to say.

Sydney gripped her boyfriend's hand tightly as she began apologizing by the seat of her pants. "I know you probably won't fully believe me, and I know you're still angry at all of us, and I know you don't really want to listen to us..." A Look from Anne. "Okay, enough disclaiming. We lied to you because we had to — not only to complete the mission, but because you would have been hurt in more ways than one had you known the truth. But that's not the point." Sydney could see Anne's thought process shift into overdrive by the slight change in her facial features; Anne was more than ready to pounce on the 'I Lied to Protect You' defense. The agent thought she could stop the retort from pouring out.

This time _she_ did not remember Anne Lawson.

"It may not be _the_ point, but it's _a_ point." Her hands abandoned the toy, and she peered down at the two seated agents with an argumentative air completely unique to Anne — and completely political. "You have absolutely no idea how I — or anyone else, for that matter — would have reacted to the truth. Therefore, you have _no right_ to assume anything. If you really were my friend, you would have trusted me with the truth. You know I did: on more than one occasion. Obviously I was wrong."

Sydney ignored the bait and instead went after the real meat of the matter. "At the time, we didn't know who was involved where and who was affiliated with whom. As much as I wanted to tell you—"

"Hold up." Anne's gazed slid to the left as she considered Sydney's last statement. "So you're saying that you couldn't tell any of us what was going on — even if you weren't ordered not to — because you didn't know if we were fraternizing with the enemy? Seriously? You thought I worked for the _Negro/Azuls_. Wow. You really don't know me at all."

Sydney opened and closed her mouth like a fish floundering on the deck of a ship. That was not what she meant! She needed to tell the teenager that she meant she did not know if Anne was bugged or if anyone would overhear them. (Although there _was_ a period of time where Anne and her red hair limboed back and forth between civilian and double agent status...But Sydney conveniently forgot that for the moment...) The words backed up down her throat, blocked behind the lump of a heart consoling itself in the warmth of her esophagus.

Anne sneered at the agent's lack of come-back. "If this is your idea of an apology, you're more fucked up that I thought."

"This is not going well," Vaughn murmured, more to himself than anyone else. Sydney glared at him, daring him to do better. Peering up at their young friend, he took a moment to arrange his words carefully. "We may have lied to you in the past, but the moment Sydney learned you were hurt, she knew she needed to tell you the truth. We could have lied again—"

"—CIA Deputy Director Kendall, our boss, wanted to put another agent in place to tell you that we all died in the fight," Sydney added, piggy-backing off of Vaughn's start. "We didn't want to do that. Weiss didn't want to do that. My father _refused_ to do that. I knew you wouldn't like the truth, but isn't it much better than another lie?"

Only silence answered her, and the female agent bit her lip to keep her sobs internal.

Vaughn slowly leaned into his girlfriend and murmured, "Don't, Syd. Don't second-guess yourself on this one. You're the champion of second-guessing, but this time, you need to take a stand and realize that you can't change the past. Defend your decision. Believe in it."

"HEY! No secrets. Whatever you have to say can be shared with the class." Anne's face hardened in a look that Sydney had seen before: disdain at exclusion. She had worn that mask many times during her own youth.

Exhaling slowly, Vaughn folded his hands in his lap and stared at them. "We told you the truth in the end — against all better judgment, because we could've been court-martialed for any number of infractions, and you could've been forced into Witness Protection — we told you the truth not to screw over the Man, but because we wanted to. You deserve the truth, not some government-constructed bullshit. And you know deep in your heart that you would have rather been told the truth than go on the rest of your life wrongly punishing yourself for the deaths of three of your friends. You know we would never set out to maliciously hurt you—"

"That's the thing," Anne interrupted. "I know _Jane_ and _Michel_ wouldn't; you two, however...I have no idea. I don't know either of you at all. And that's what kills me. After everything that happened this year, I thought we'd graduate and spend the entire summer together before we all left for school. I thought we'd be crying over a few months and being a thousand miles apart, not...not this. I thought I meant more than being a cog in the machine, than being the next step up on the corporate ladder."

Sydney could feel the loosely-held plans of blissful reconciliation slipping through her fingers like smoke and fog. "Anne, you're one of my best friends—"

"And I thought I was the only one. Therein lies the rub."

Sydney recognized the air of a girl no longer able to cry; there was nothing left, physically or spiritually, to fuel the tears. Only numbness. All-consuming, all-encompassing numbness. The veil, the mask that Sydney even now still clung to from time to time perched on the teenager's forehead, poised to slide down at any time and change her exterior from bubbly to biting, bitter, and downright frigid. "I can't believe you used me like that. I feel like a whore without the benefit of an orgasm. Or the money." Any other time, and Sydney would have given her friend a high-five for her sharp wit. "Used. That's the only way I can think of to describe it." Sydney saw the mask teeter for a moment, nudged by a gust of that deceptively hopeful wind. Her heart began beating wildly as Anne met her gaze with deliberate pain. "They really wanted to tell me you died?"

Both agents nodded sadly, not sure whether to take her question as an olive branch peace offering. Maybe the mask would remain out of use, sport a good layer of dust never to be disturbed. In other words, Sydney thought there was still a chance. "Anne," She tried once more, aiming for this plea to seal the deal, "we lied because we had to, not because we wanted to. As much as you don't want to believe it, we did it for your own good. You know what the _Negro/Azuls_ tried to do to you freshman year. They were doing that to other kids as well, and we had to lie in order to stop them. There was no way around it. If I had the choice, I would do it again — to protect you.

"Because, hard as it is to believe, not everything between us was a lie." The two locked eyes, and Sydney saw the mask tilt backwards — away from her face. Hope, cleverly hidden by wariness, glinted on her face. "You were my first and only real friend at Glenfield: no one else liked Plain Jane, but you did. You accepted Michel Tibot for who he was." She wisely avoided Weiss. "The way we feel about you — that wasn't a lie. We care for you _so_ much it hurts. _All_ of us.

"Please, Anne. Do you forgive us?"

Sydney watched in horror and indescribable pain as the mask wobbled back and forth, utterly indecisive as to where it belonged. The deceptive wind pushed and pulled it as the weights measured the balance on her internal justice scales. Any small infraction magnified itself in Sydney's mind: the thrown-together belated card for her birthday; every time she told a white lie when she could have flashed a bit of the truth; and, of course, that God-damned EWE Party...Would any of it sway her either way now? Maybe if she had done something (everything) differently...

She was not used to relinquishing the control again; not since she regained it after the raid had she felt so powerless to change her situation.

And then the mask fell. _Forward._ The female agent witnessed the moment the black veil — the thick film composed of their betrayal and her anger, constructed by her stubbornness and hurt — fall down to cover all of the young woman's features, stowing away the real Anne. It slid into place like a wrought-iron portcullis, barring all outsiders from entrance into her soul. Sydney, Vaughn, and most definitely Weiss could be turned away at the door from this moment on, clutching their apologies and explanations like beautifully-wrapped yet still unwanted gifts close to their wounded hearts.

Sydney remembered wanting to drop a cold barrier between herself and the rest of the world (multiple times), but she had Vaughn to resurrect her battered spirit, to swoop down and save her from Despair.

Anne...She had no one. Yes, she would be surrounded by old friends for a few short months before they scattered across the country, but none of them were as deeply involved with the offending agents. No one knew the extent of her pain. Only Henry came close to her level of involvement, and that was only because he and Weiss dueled over Anne. If anything, the teenage boy was _glad_ they left.

The only people who could comfort her were the very people who hurt her in the first place.

And the very people she now turned her back on.

The female agent expected Anne's patented fiery anger and feisty tongue to emerge as the outward face of her mask, but instead the young woman emerged from her thoughts calm, collected, and bitterly cold. Her words, to a passerby, would seem fine, normal conversation; compared to the normal _Anne_, however, one froze from the inside out.

"No," She answered solidly. "No, I don't forgive you. I wouldn't know who I was forgiving. I don't care how you feel towards me; I mean, it's comforting that complete strangers 'still care' for me, right? I know how I feel towards Jane Porter, Michel Tibot, and Greg Stone, but I don't know how to act towards Sydney Bristow, Michael Vaughn, and Eric Weiss. I don't know you _at all._ Period. All I know of you is that you lied to me for almost an entire year, and I _hate_ that, so right now, I _hate_ Sydney, Michael, and Eric. Those feelings I held for your aliases...Sorry: nontransferable.

"The fact is, I have nothing to base those feelings on and no assurance that I'm not wasting my time again.

"You _say_ you still like me; you _say_ you still count me as a friend; you _say_ you're telling the truth. But you've _said_ a lot that hasn't been exactly true lately. As of this moment, all I know is the lie and that you were the ones to say it.

"First impressions can't be reversed, guys.

"I don't trust you at all.

"And I don't think I ever will." Anne gulped hard as if the words were a surprise even for her.

The teenager locked eyes with the former teenager, and Sydney struggled to see beyond the veil, but she only glimpsed unfathomable despair. (Maybe that was all there was behind the mask...) "I know you expected some different reaction — maybe anger — but I'm so over yelling at you. Yelling isn't going to change what you did: nothing will; I've accepted that. But that doesn't mean you have my forgiveness, because that is never going to happen. I will never, ever forgive, let alone forget, what you've done to me and my friends and everyone I know. So I'm not going to yell; I just never want to speak to you again."

Sydney's vision blurred with silent tears as her former best friend unlocked the brakes on her wheelchair and made sure Stitch sat securely in her lap. "Enjoy you stay in The Happiest Place on Earth," She admonished before disappearing into the crowd. "'Cause you definitely ruined mine."

Sydney did not have the strength to follow.

**

* * *

**

Water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink — _The Ryme of the Ancient Mariner_: the poem Sydney loved to hate. So long, so boring, and _so_ over-hyped; she must have read it three times in her freshman college year alone. She actually strongly disliked poetry in general, but the scholarly conditioning — much like its strange bedfellow espionage conditioning — chose the most peculiar times to rise to the surface of her brain, usually in the form of a quotation.

But this time, the quotation matched well. Salty, murky waves slapped down on the beach, white foam swirling and gurgling. Normally, the choppiness would deter no one, but coupled with the steady fall of water from the sky, they kept the scores of sun-seeking tourists inside. The fat drops blasted round craters in the sand, sizzling from contact with the warm grains. A freak summer storm: not exactly unheard of in Florida this time of year. Because of those drops, the lawn chairs, tables, couches, and chaises planted in the sand around her stood empty, leaving her and the water to bond. The water from above mixed with the water from her eyes, washing away the well-worn ruts and painting her cheeks a raw red.

Water, water everywhere, indeed.

After her second failure with Anne in as many tries, Sydney allowed Vaughn to take her back to their beach-front hotel to spend the rest of the day...doing whatever took her mind off of their teenaged former friend. She confessed to merely wanting to watch TV for a while, and so they took in a baseball game in each others' arms. Vaughn, despite a valiant attempt not to, fell asleep, and she stole outside to sit by the ocean and be by herself. She did not even move when the sky began to resemble a shadow and water fell.

Now soaked to the soul, she sat curled in the fetal position on an oversized wicker chair doing what she did best — regret the past. It was too early, she decided; too early to come back and apologize and expect her to _accept_ the apology. After only about a month? It took an entire week to talk the girl down from the ledge after as comparatively small an insurrection as drinking. A year of lying would take much, much longer. And because she jumped too soon, she would never again have the chance to realize the dream of a lasting relationship with Anne.

She would do well to accept that fact.

What happens to a dream differed? Does it dry up Like a raisin in the sun?..._Or does it explode?_ This particular poem by Langston Hughes — one of the better Harlem Renaissance poets, in her opinion — resurfaced in her brain more times than she would prefer.

She could not just shove aside her friendship with Anne; at least, she did not want to let it dry up. She had not lied when she said all three agents still cared for her. Would she now have to silence those feelings, ignore them like they never existed in the first place? Would she have to lie to herself about Anne's role in her life?

Most likely.

And that thought hurt her more than anything.

Hugging herself tighter as a fresh wave of water surged from her eyes, a new pair of hands added their welcome weight to her shoulders. She nestled into the left one as it stroked her cold cheek. Gripping it by the wrist, she pulled downward to briefly brush her lips across the palm. "I woke up, and you weren't there," said a voice to her left. "You scared me, Syd. Why didn't you leave a note?" Vaughn's worried eyes drifted into her field of vision from the left, only superseded by the lines etched into his brow.

She closed her eyes to his concern but hugged his hand tightly. "Sorry. I forgot."

Vaughn swung around the side of the chair and squatted in front of her, his heated hand now resting on her right cheek as his thumb practically vaporized her tears. Finally lifting her lids, she welcomed him onto the chair, and he stretched out with her clutched to his chest on top of him, his legs dangling off of the edge of the armrest. Their heart beats sank into a well-established rhythm, and she felt his warmth pierce her clammy skin. They sat in silence for a long moment, the arms enveloping her taking her mind away form all the different water forms.

For being a summer storm, this one lasted a while.

When she broke the silence, her voice sounded far away and small. "'Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the road less traveled by, And that has made all the difference.'" She blinked a rain drop out of her eye. "Did you know that 'The Road Not Taken' is one of the most misinterpreted poems of modern times? It is _not_ a happy piece. Frost's speaker is actually _lamenting_ the path he chose, not patting himself on the back for taking the less popular route."

"Syd, you can't keep beating yourself up over this," He murmured into her ear, his fingers caressing the strip of lower back exposed by her shirt. "You did the best you could. That's all anyone could ask. At least we tried to set things right by telling her the truth: others wouldn't have even done that."

"But what if that wasn't the right decision?" She questioned, peering up at him through her eyelashes. "Would she have been better off with the CIA lie than our truth? Would she have fewer emotional scars?"

"We'll never know, Syd." Vaughn gazed back at her earnestly. "As much as I want to, I can't build a time machine to go back and try all of this another way. We told the truth, and now we're _all_ going to have to live with the consequences, whether we think they're just or not." He paused, sweeping her sopping hair away from the right side of her neck. "But for what it's worth, in the end, I think you made the right decision."

"But at the hospital—"

"I know. I was being an ass. You know how that goes sometimes." He grinned at her, but she could only lift a corner of her mouth in a half-hearted attempt at a smile.

Sighing, she whispered, "I just...I just wish things were different; that's all. I love Anne and Weiss and you so deeply, and it _hurts_ to have one of you ripped away from me so violently—"

"Marry me."

"_What?"_

At first, she did not think she heard his soft plea, but her throat had seemed to cut off any possible reply. Her gaze shot to his, searching his eyes for some hint that he meant what he said.

Apparently, he did.

"Seriously. Marry me." His eyes exuded love and honesty and hope for the future. Hope for _them._ "This isn't exactly how I wanted to ask you. I figured after Anne accepted our apology, we'd go back to our room, and all our friends from Glenfield would be waiting below our balcony, holding signs. Or we'd go on one of those glass-bottomed boat rides, and I'd propose down on one knee during dinner.

"Obviously, none of those things are appropriate now.

"But that doesn't change the fact that I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I knew that a long time ago, and this mission just reaffirmed it. There's no sense in waiting for the 'right time' when any number of variables can come along and screw it all up. You're so caring and so kind and so wonderful, and you care so deeply about everyone and everything. Knowing that I'm a part of that love makes me so indescribably happy.

"I know you're hurting right now, and I want to be the one to take away that pain. Forever. Because you deserve some sort of happiness in your life, and I want to be the one to give it to you in whatever way and whatever form I can.

"The ring is, um, up in our room, 'cause I wasn't planning on doing this right now, and you're kind of on top of me, so I can't get down on one knee—"

"Yes." Her voice was firm and very near for the first time that afternoon. A smile began to creep up on her. "The answer is, yes, Michael Vaughn, I would love to marry you."

And while she still shook and cried, those shivers and tears gradually became tinged with happiness, and she began to know before she even recognized: someday, somehow everything would be okay.

_**END**_

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**_

Well, that's the end, folks. That's all she wrote. Final page total: 265 in ten-point font and singled-spaced. That's about 214,000 words, give or take a few hundred. I sincerely hope you enjoyed this crazy ride, and I hope that you learned something from it, too, whether good or bad. Feedback always makes me happy (especially if there's constructive criticism in there), but realize I write for my own enjoyment: this was how the story was going to end from my first planning, and I wouldn't change it for the world.

That being said...The ending fulfilled one surprise, so I'll fulfill the second.

**There WILL be a sequel**.

No flaming projectiles, please.

Toodles and snickerdooles.

:D Becky, the Dream Writer 4 Life


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